Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Category: Social Page

Stress-Free Writing Experience

…switched to “Distraction-free writing mode” since I remarked upon it yesterday. Apparently they realized they could not promise to eliminate stress, in spite of the feverish sort of enjoyment I usually derive from this. Once I actually start. Anyway, all it meant was they hid the menus at the side, as if I had been stressed out by them before. As if.

Almost done with the second can of Wicked Apple Ale, thanks to wicked Nick, not to mention his wicked wife, who first gave me some to try, though it was the non-wicked type. I soon hit the harder stuff, to quote Bob Dylan.

Today is my 31st anniversary, and Trexa took me and Rom to Logan’s Roadhouse. My steak (medium-rare) and sweet potato (without cinnamon) (they also had cinnamon apples, eww) was very good. Rom had a burger done “medium-well,” which I guess means gray and flavorless without being actually burnt. No wonder he put both ketchup and steak sauce on it.

You know Logan’s serves lots of aging boomers, because the soundtrack when we entered was Bachman-Turner Overdrive and the Guess Who (involving some of the same personnel–they must need the money). Speaking of which, I saw a headline recently–“Millennials Now the Most Frequent Caregivers.” Why? Did Gen-X’ers get tired of our shit?

I must take issue with Logan’s restroom. It had a fake distressed-concrete floor, with real puddles of water in 3 out of the 4 stalls. It made me feel like I’d been kidnapped and taken to the basement of an abandoned warehouse. Well, except that I had a toilet instead of a pail to go in. And they gave me steak. Anyway, why would you want your bathroom floor to look like it was crumbling away after the fall of civilization?

1968 vs. 1984

It was 1968 when I decided I was going to be a writer. I was sitting in 8th grade English class, we were studying 1984, and it struck me–I could do this! Then I immediately started worrying about whether I could do it or not. This was against the background of recently discovering that my lack of math aptitude precluded a career as a scientist. Actually, my 2nd thought after my epiphany was, And I wouldn’t necessarily have to go to college! I suspected even then that I wouldn’t be able to make it through. This did not keep me from trying 3 times.


No Title


“This is how well gets done.”


Commercial: “Us lives here.”


Rom: “We be them.”


On tanker truck: “Evansville Water Transportation.” Well, now I don’t have to wonder what’s in the tank.


Cancer woman with Scorpio man: “Be the milkmaid with a secret financial ability who wears a tiny silver chain around her waist in bed.” This may be my favorite sentence in the entire collection. Because, what?

Leo: “You could give a winter party for 500, insisting that everyone come in bikinis while you wrap yourself in furs. No one would bat an artificial lash–it’s your style.”

Leo woman with Pisces man: “He wants to run barefoot through your hair. But don’t wait for him to speak up.” Yeah, just say, “You wanna run barefoot through my hair?” It’s your style.

Aquarius: “You’ll spend your last dollars on a quadrophonic tuner even though few radio stations are equipped to broadcast quad.” I believe that is still the case.


The latest Lands’ End catalog has cashmere sweaters on the cover. I glanced at it and thought, “I’d like to have a cashmere sweater, but they’re so expensive.” Then I realized, don’t I have retirement-gift money I’ve been wondering what to do with? And with their current 40% off sale, I could buy a twinset! How classic of me! So I did. I promise to post a (rare and therefore valuable) picture of me on Facebook wearing my new sweaters. Yes, I should post it directly on the blog. No, I do not know how to do so, having no smartphone. Nick, shut up.

Social Page: End of Summer at Nick’s

Note: We will indulge the parents in the audience, who think it’s the end of summer now just because they have to send their kids back to school. My boomer associates will know that school should actually begin in early September.

I was solemnly invited to Nick’s for the birthday party of his youngest child (hereafter referred to as Thing 2). Since this was also celebrating the End Of Summer As We Know It, I brought apple ale.


–Watching Nick clean stuff up before the party, which involved a lot of bending over. His clothes at this point were paint-splattered, or maybe he’d been attacked by a flock of birds with diarrhea. He then changed into a fresh pair of horrific cargo shorts and his “Sexy Bald Guy” t-shirt, so we’d all know he’s sexy without having to try him out for ourselves.

==Ants helping clean up the deck (if any such thing constructed on flat ground can be called a “deck”) by dragging away a dead cricket and a dead moth, calling for reinforcements as necessary.

–Nick unintentionally setting off a diplomatic crisis by putting Thing 2’s Captain America mask on a little girl. The Birthday Boy (who turns 4 on Wednesday) promptly marched over and announced, “You don’t look like Captain America!” and drew back his fist. Onlookers held their collective breath–we could hear the gears grinding as he thought, “I’ll be in really big trouble if I punch her in the face.” He finally grabbed his Capt. America shield, withdrew to the bouncy house, and jumped up and down while shouting, “I’m Captain America! I’m Captain America!” Which is of course what every one of us wants to do at our own birthday party.

–I drank 2 cans of hard ale, which rendered me unable to respond to Nick’s cruel jabs. He did not enjoy this situation as much as one might expect. Because I am an uncool drunk, I was unsteady on my feet, causing those sitting near me to say, “Are you OK?” Sure, it was hard ale, but still, I basically drank 2 beers. Good thing I don’t drive.

Oh, and thanks to the person from Germany who has read 39 posts!

Crisis Averted

You must excuse any typos because I’m pretty drunk right now. Nick, you may avert your gaze.


Disclaimer: Drunk enough to make many typos, sober enough to correct them.

Who would have thought I’d ever be popular enough to reserve a whole room at Hacienda? (Notice: Let’s see how well I do at Chuck E. Cheese on Sunday.) The most decadent thing I did was get chip crumbs in my hair–hardly a match for Easter Vigil at St Boniface, where I got hot wax on my hand and holy water in my eye–and I got tipsy enough to think sending Nick a picture of me with a drink in my hand was a good idea (though it wasn’t that bad an idea {disclaimer–I meant to do italics for “bad” rather than boldface, but I’m drunk, so suck it}, since I wasn’t driving).

There was no question of any sort of singing, since we were SO LOUD anyway. {Non-disclaimer: I have resumed this post several hours later and am now sober, which makes it much easier.} I was very pleased to see several former colleagues who had gone on to greener pastures (I guess the sewer department might produce greener pastures, for one). It is worthy of note that, in spite of this being a Mexican restaurant, A Certain Person had a burger covered with loathsome vegetables and a huge pile of fries. I had two of their wonderful strawberry daiquiris, the  most painless way to get alcohol into your body there is, but, combined with the large quantity of food I consumed, they just made me sleepy. I went home and dozed off mid-rosary on the couch, which sounds like some kind of retirement cliche.

Nick’s owner assured me he was sorry for his absence and would make it up to me somehow, both of which he loftily denied.

Now it’s time to shower, and I need to remove nail polish first, so I must go.

A Timely Reminder

…My RETIREMENT PARTY occurs tomorrow! Yes, I’ve been retired for 2 weeks already, but I won’t feel completely-retired until then. Now I’m just “newly retired.” It’s like how long it takes after your wedding before you’re no longer “newlyweds.” And there will be a Social Page post after the party, if I survive it and remember anything.

One thing we need not fear is a visit from Nick, who had a prior commitment to perform in the rain at Disney World. “Too bad,” said Rom, “he could have done the stripper-cop thing.” “Hmm,” said Nick when I told him this, “I’d actually thought of that when I left my hotel room today.” It’s a bit pitiful to think of him fantasizing about performing at a party he can’t go to, but he doesn’t see as much of me as he’d like.

OK, since paranoia springs eternal, I am now imagining my (former) colleagues thinking, “PARTY? Oh no, we forgot!” or, conversely, all showing up at the restaurant without me.

Oh, and there is no karaoke facility at this venue, so “House of the Rising Sun” will have to go forever unsung. I’m not about to perform it without accompaniment. Perhaps A Certain Person will treat us to her a capella rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” instead.


Piece of junk mail received–“Enclosed: Your Death Benefit and Walmart Savings Certificate.” Yes, one benefit of death is that there will be no Walmart. And who thought those things would go together? Is Walmart now providing funeral services?


I have a 33 oz. bottle of shampoo that I opened round about Inauguration Day. It occurred to me that Trump might be gone before I finish this bottle. I will keep you posted on its progress. I wash my hair every day, but it’s Suave Daily Clarifying, and only a small amount is required, so it’s anybody’s guess. Perhaps I should take bets. I will illustrate the process on Facebook, if I ever get my phone photo-link to Facebook fixed. It’s not worth waiting a long time on hold for. Unlike Nick, who waited OVER TWO HOURS to get on a ride at Disney World. No ride is worth two hours of my time. Of course, Disney World isn’t worth my time, either. Enormous crowds! Things with big heads! Hotels with “themes”! Sounds like Walmart, except Walmart is easier to get out of.



Now It Can Be Told

This page took so long to load, it was as if the computer was asking, “Are you sure you want to do this?” Well, I’m not sure I should be doing it. S.G. has just lost its original reason for being, after all, and may turn out to be flimsy and pitiful without work stories, but I’m pitiful without something to write, so here you are, like it or not.


I own a light blue ball cap with rhinestones on it. I wore it to church today–it was only the second time I’ve worn it. I looked at myself in the mirror, and thought the fit was a bit odd, but Rom has owned ball caps that had some type of stiffener in the front panel and fit in a similar manner, so I didn’t think anything of it. When I got home and took the hat off, I realized I had never taken the cardboard insert out of it that had kept it from looking droopy on the hook at Walgreen’s. By the way, the first time I wore this hat was to a party at Nick’s place. Obviously he didn’t notice anything amiss, or he’d have laughed until he cried (if that is indeed possible).


My exit-interview form (they didn’t give me an actual interview, just a form) said, “What was the best thing about working for the City?” and I wrote “Never a dull moment!” Then I thought, No, I’m supposed to say, “Helping people”! But “never a dull moment” is what first came to mind, and so it shall remain.


Namely, my coloring-book progress. I have dealt with creepy moths and dragonflies, and explored the differences between yellow-green and green-yellow. The author’s introduction said, “You may find some of these patterns too intricate to color each small space. Feel free to color the whole larger area and just let the pattern show through.” That is such a load off my mind. It tells you something that with many of the pictures, I preferred to write captions or dialogue for them, rather than color them.


…which is the new name for D., since Rom says she has arms like a T. Rex. I didn’t notice that myself, but it has entertainment value.


–That s’mores (had by me for the first time!) (Nick: “I can’t believe you never had them.” WELL, I DON’T GO CAMPING, SO WHERE WOULD I HAVE HAD THE OPPORTUNITY TO TRY THEM?) are better without the chocolate. Also that I have a talent for toasting marshmallows, which, like my talent for miniature golf, is due to a watchful patience that I have yet to display in any other areas of life. Perhaps I can take up a second career as a sniper. DID YOU KNOW? They make square marshmallows now for this purpose! For s’mores, I mean, not sniping.

–That I do not, in fact, know enough to come in out of the rain, but neither did anyone else at this event. We just sat there eating in the rain. Roughing it.



Day 6.1–It {was}’s My Birthday and I’ll Post If I Want To

Well, it was yesterday, and I didn’t want to. Plus, I was severely indisposed for the last hour of it. Let’s just say amine intolerance (which I decided to develop, because food intolerances are so fashionable these days, and lactose and gluten are so overdone) + stromboli sausage = a lot of bathroom time. The more distressing because the strombolis were an annual rite to celebrate meeting Rom in 1978. Of course, Rom can’t eat ice cream, and misery loves company.

Many thanks to D. (henceforth to be called Trex, for T. Rex, because Rom thinks she has really short arms), for the gift of a MARCASITE NECKLACE. I love marcasite, but my previous experience with it has been 2 Avon rings, one with black plastic rose center, and one with hematite center, which eventually turned my finger green, as cheap rings will. (I HOPE I’M NOT SUED BY AVON FOR THIS STATEMENT.)





“Every beat of my heart belongs to you.” Looks like that “Every Breath You Take” guy finally found his ideal woman.

“We’ll be together forever like Bonnie & Clyde.” You do remember how that ends?


My RETIREMENT PARTY will be June 14 at Hacienda on 1st Ave. Here I am, blithely inviting my entire FanBase, even though I’m not the one organizing the affair. Just show up and pretend you just happened to be sitting at the bar.


The latest plan for my Last Day Of Work is to show up drunk and naked. Although that will lead to difficulties walking there.

–Bumper sticker: “She Reads Truth.” Alright, then. Must be some hipster cultural thing I’m not aware of. Rom always says, “Ignorance of your culture is not considered cool,” but since when have I cared about being cool? Well? Which reminds me of the time I said to A Certain Person, “You know me, keeping a low profile,” and she said, “Since when?”


There was a children’s book, “Time To Sleep–A Touch and Feel Book.” It had something soft to feel on every page. I thought, Oh! I’d have loved this as a little kid! Did I pick it up and touch the furry spot on every page? Of course not, why would you think so? I promise I didn’t sweat on it. This is, by the way, the other side of having sensory issues.

It’s still hard for me to believe I soon won’t be working. I keep thinking it must be some mistake, and I’ll find myself with no job and no money.


When I got back home today, Rom was napping. I went in and said something so he’d know I was home, and he started violently, which startled the cats, so they both exploded off the bed. He said, “My first thought was, Did one of the cats just speak?”



The Small and Silly

Need a laugh? Watch this. It’s never failed me yet.

Well, now I’m experiencing technical difficulties–user error, no doubt–so you’ll probably have to wait till the end for the video. Maybe I should have waited till I finished the post to embed it. The featured bird can also Walk Like an Egyptian, but you’ll have to find that out for yourself.


It’s been a long time since we checked in with Archer & Fiona, who are now 5. Each made a statement today that really tells you what kind of person they are:

Archer: I was showing them the very video displayed in this post, and then they asked me what was in the 2 little boxes on the bookshelf. Hoping this was a one-time thing–if I had to explain everything in my office, we’d be there a very long time–I opened the boxes and showed them the cute little cobra that wiggles when you touch it, and the cute little ladybug whose legs wiggle. Then I put the boxes away, and Archer said, “But do they move when the boxes are closed?” Whoa. Zen tree in the forest, man. Shades of Schrodinger’s cat (who I sincerely hope is not dead).

Fiona: I got in the car with the twins and their mother (she was giving me a ride down to St Joe), and we said farewell to Rom. He told Fiona “Have a good day!” and she said, “I will. You know I always do.”


3:26 and All Is Not Well

“…I was up till 3:30 last night,” says Stephen Colbert, as if there’s something unusual about that. I cannot rest until I write. I’m like Cat Esmerelda with petting–“I’VE DONE WITHOUT IT FOR DAYS, BUT NOW I MUST STAND IN THE HALLWAY AND YELL, AND GET IN FRONT OF YOU WHEN YOU TRY TO LEAVE THE ROOM, AND COME BACK AND GET YOU WHEN YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME, BECAUSE I HAVE TO HAVE IT NOW NOW NOW–”

Ahem. Anywayz, the 28th was Rom’s birthday (he’s 65! how did that happen?), and we went to Turoni’s with D. It’s a good thing I remembered what I wanted (3-cheese/chicken/broccoli pizza, yum!), because their current menu struck me like a blow (albeit a very minor one–unlike their bathroom, which thanks to their mid-century modern decorating scheme reminded me of the restrooms of my childhood, so I expected their toilet to do likewise, and instead it was a supersonic TOILET OF THE FUTURE, and startled me when I flushed), because the menu was an over-crowded BARRAGE OF WORDS, and I was momentarily overwhelmed. (The accompanying illustrations did not help. Pictures on a menu should be of food, not cartoon characters.) I had been thinking I might like an alcoholic beverage (or 2, or 3, or 4), but that required a separate menu to present their hellish profusion of beers, so that was Not Gonna Happen. By the way, the pizzas of my table companions were overly colorful. A pizza should not look like it has confetti strewn over it.

This post is reading like a grab bag of World Leader Edicts. And I’ve only just begun.


You didn’t know I had one, did you? Neither did I.

Nothing like a letter from that source which cheerily begins, “We’re NOT accusing your of identity theft!” Oh?

“…but you need to go to our website, and pass a quiz to verify your identity, which will only take a few minutes, and we’ll give you 3 chances to pass it, and then we’ll send you your refund, if you first tell us the exact amount of the refund you were claiming.”


I grumpily went to my pile of leftover tax documents. Well, guess what? After doing the taxes, I had separated the paperwork into 2 piles–one to toss and one to keep–and guess what I did. That’s right, I threw the wrong ones away. Stuff like this would make me think dementia is setting in, except that I’ve been doing stuff like this my whole life. It’s a wonder I can even feed myself. Oh wait, I don’t, Rom feeds me. Well, not by hand, because I bite.

Soooo…I don’t have the paperwork they require, so I need to call them, at their non-toll-free number. How can I prove I’m not the identity thief they’re not accusing me of being? Maybe they’ll tell me to come up to Indianapolis with my state I.D. (it’s like a driver’s license, except that it says Don’t Let This Person Drive) to get my refund.

You know, I carefully arrange my life so I seem normal, to myself and others. But going to a city I’ve never been to, where I know no one, and try and find a building I’ve never been to? That is so Not Gonna Happen. They can just keep my refund, paltry as it is. Identity theft has claimed another victim.

Even More Stuff

…mostly stuff I forgot to include last time. Speaking of which, scrolling through old posts (because I saw someone had read an old one titled “I Am the Carpet Queen, I Can Do Anything,” and I wanted to see why I’d come up with that {stolen from Jim Morrison/the Doors, and not for the first time, I bet}) (OK, I just had to go back up to the top to remember what my point was) (I’m not drunk, by the way), I was struck by the fact that–wow, old posts used to be long. (“And more frequent, too,” they observe tartly.) Yeah, this paragraph was a lot of buildup for little payoff. Please don’t say that old posts also used to be better.

My arm continues to get better, thanks for asking. Especially since I had to perform amateur surgery to remove a piece of sweater fuzz that had become embedded in the wound, ew ew ew. My stoicism in doing this makes me like to think I could cut off my foot to escape a trap if I had to. And I probably would  have to, because avoiding the trap in the first place doesn’t seem to be an option.


Actually, I was paid to write a review once in the 80’s. That wouldn’t look great on a resume (along with having a short-short story published in a magazine with a circulation of 200 in 1995), but since I’ll never have to write a resume again, I don’t care.

Anyway, I saw the Jungle Book with Rom and D., and I can recommend it to all who enjoyed the books. Unfortunately, it included a couple of musical numbers left over from the Disney cartoon, for which I did not care, but they were brief.


First off, call me old and prudish (I dare you–DON’T MAKE ME PICK LINT OFF YOUR ARM!), but please don’t cuss in front of the customers. Apparently they think they’re OK as long as they don’t cuss at the customers. Perhaps I am stodgy about this because my job does involve people cussing at me. (“They cuss at you even though you’re providing the emergency help they’re requesting?” they ask. Yes, FanBase, yes.)

Second off, a co-worker who was not present was spoken of thus: “Right now she’s literally walking on eggshells.” No wonder she couldn’t make it to work.


I’m toying with the idea of reinstating the Post-A-Day rule, perhaps starting on my upcoming birthday. That gives me several weeks to, you know, brood over why I couldn’t stick to it the last time.



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