Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Category: Social Page

Raw Material

cash dollars hands money

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I’ve been suffering from a dearth of material since I retired, but I realized I have, at the moment, two past events and two future events to recount, PLUS a segue between the two categories, so here goes–counterfeit money + a 90th birthday party + physical therapy + perfume review introduction (you thought I’d forgotten about those, didn’t you?).

ADVENTURES IN COUNTERFEITING

I found a $20 bill on the floor at the Dollar General. If I’d seen someone drop it, I’d have returned it to them, but no one was around, so I snagged it.

It was crumply and had weird markings on it, but no more so than some other bills I’ve had. But I presented it at McDonald’s, and they knew it was wrong right away. “We’ll have to keep this, if you don’t mind,” the employee told me, but of course they’d have kept it whether I minded or not. Easy come, easy go, I said, and explained how I’d gotten hold of it. I also explained this to the nice officer who came to pick it up.

I tell this story belatedly because Nick, who was the first person I told it to after Rom, felt compelled to post it on Facebook.

Perhaps this is what my fortune cookie meant when it said I’d inherit some money this year, but I didn’t exactly inherit it, unless someone had fallen down dead in the dollar store and dropped it. I am also picturing the conversation if I had seen it fall out of someone’s hand–“Excuse me, you dropped this,” “No, never mind, it’s fake anyway.”

SOCIAL PAGE

I attended my mother-in-law’s 90th birthday party yesterday. An impressive number of people braved the cold and snow to be there. (In the interests of accuracy, I must note that she will not actually turn 90 until Wednesday.) It is the job of Trexa and myself at these gatherings to sit in the corner and mutter about how loud everyone else is. I am betting this was the loudest 90th birthday party I’ll ever attend, and possibly the loudest anyone will ever attend. Unfortunately, the corner we were sitting in was right in front of the card/gift table, and people kept handing me things and asking me to put them on the table behind me. However, I’ve developed a condition called “frozen shoulder,” and I can’t really reach behind me. So I’d hand the items to Trexa, and she’d put them on the table. Yes, it takes two people to put a birthday card in a basket.

Now this is where the segue comes in. You might remember my dislocated finger 2 years ago, and the 5 months of therapy that followed. Well, I start physical therapy for this shoulder tomorrow, and it should be good for a few weeks of whining at least.

Also coming up at some point–reviews of the entire Frederic Malle perfume line. They will be widely interspersed, though, so you can gather your strength between reviews.

 

 

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Vampire Cat

white and black cat lying on floor

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Disclaimer: Photograph is an approximation of the cat in question.

Sometimes living with small predators can make you think twice. Yesterday Rom cut his hand just-short-of-needing-stitches badly while woodcarving, and came in dripping blood on the floor. I started wiping it up, with Cat Esmerelda beside me, watching . Then Rom asked me to help him bandage it in the bathroom. When I came back to the kitchen, the remaining drops of blood were gone. So we have a vampire cat. It’s like a vampire bat, but without wings.

“Vampire Cat, Vampire Cat

Does whatever a vampire does

Can she fly through the air?

She cannot, she’s a cat.”

Or, “Vampire Cat, doo doo doo doo doo doo…” (And why has there been no word of a Baby Shark movie? Sure, there’s not much to work with, but that’s never stopped Hollywood before.)

The weird thing is, Ez seems like the least bloodthirsty cat we’ve had. She doesn’t bite or scratch, even in play. She’s just a little scavenger.

FURTHER THOUGHTS ON MY FORTHCOMING INHERITANCE

The fortune said an “unexpected” amount of money. Well, any amount would be unexpected at this point. Also, it would be hard to unexpectedly inherit money “in bed,” unless you’re Melania Trump. Speaking of which, Donald said he prefers to call it a “strike” rather than a “shutdown.” Well, I prefer to call it a tantrum. So there.

Nick is not doing well at sucking up, thinking that I am actually endeared by his insolence.

He was tickled to find out (hey, maybe he should be tickled! How much money would that be worth, hmm?) that my username in the International Perfume Community is CobraRose. Hey, the purpose of the Internet is to give yourself a cool nickname.

Brought To You By the Voices In My Head

person holding string lights photo

Photo by David Cassolato on Pexels.com

…because I had a dream recently in which someone asked me to post again. Yes, that’s sad. No, I am not going to Make a Resolution To Post More Often, because you’ve heard it all before.

BUT YOU NEED TO KNOW–

–that the self-service kiosks at McDonald’s are full of poop bacteria! POOP!! Yet another reason not to use them. Of course, that was a very small study. Perhaps the customers on the West Side of Evansville are cleaner people. And while we’re on the subject, when the study came out saying that restroom hand dryers just blow poop bacteria (or “poopteria,” as scientists call it) back onto your hands, I expected to see them taken out of restaurants immediately, but so far I have been disappointed.

Speaking of germs, I am currently battling a cold. Well, perhaps “battling” is too strong a word, as it’s a very mild cold. Mild enough that I did not bother telling Nick, who took me to Canton Inn for my Christmas present. Actually, first he took me to the National Guard Armory, because he left his wallet in his office. He didn’t let me see his office, though.

A WORLD’S FIRST!!

After our meal, I said, “Time to find out about our futures in our fortune cookies!”

“Our future?” Nick said nervously. “You know you have to add ‘in bed’ to those.”

“Our respective futures, then,” I said.

I

got

an

actual

fortune.

“You will inherit an unexpected amount of money within the year.”

“Should I start sucking up, then?” said Nick, knowing I have no children (that I know of).

Notice they did not say a large amount of money. And they did say I’d inherit it, not win the lottery or find it on the street. Maybe Nick will die and leave me some. I bet he didn’t think of that. Whatever it is, it will happen within the year. I don’t know if that’s the calendar year or a year from today, but at this point they’re almost the same. I’ll keep you posted on my inheritance progress.

DID YOU KNOW?

Fortune cookie messages are not written by Chinese soothsayers, but by hack writers like me.

 

 

Domination, Donald Trump, Donuts

bread food sandwich wood

Photo by Steyn Viljoen on Pexels.com

…is not what this post is about, but a list of my frequently-used tags (do I write a lot about those things? really?) on the side of my page showed them, and the juxtaposition amused me. Like my music collection, in which “Catholic Communion Classics” is next to “More Cowbell.”

Disclaimer: Nick paid for this post with dinner and a movie, and is, I’m sure, already fretting because his name is not in the title. He will have to settle for a subtitle:

DINNER AND THE MOVIES WITH NICK

And not even a very good subtitle.

Nick may think that he can change from his human to his beast-shape at will, but that actually occurs only when will it, which does not always work to his advantage. So it was in the form of a man that he came to pick me up Sunday evening. I had invited myself along to see The Big Lebowski, his favorite movie, basically because I wanted to know what the big deal was. And Nick was too much of a gentleman to say, “No, you can’t come, you’ll spoil the mood.”

Our dinner party also consisted of Nick’s wife J. (I’d add her middle initial, but I don’t know it), their children Thing One and Thing Two, and Nick’s friend Officer A. B. Nick’s wife was eight months and three weeks pregnant with Thing Three, and I kept thinking, What if she goes into labor right here? Well, there are two police officers here, I guess they’d know what to do. Actually, most men know more about childbirth than I do.

If J. had gone into labor, it would be because there were two birthday parties going on at Hacienda that night, and employees are required to come to the table and clap and sing, and they were VERY LOUD. I was about ready to run out the door myself.

Nick, whose idea of a good time apparently involves trying to make me eat food I dislike, kept asking me why I don’t like salsa, to the point of insisting that this post include the explanation. I don’t know why, since I told him why right then and there. It’s because it looks like vomit. This also applies to gazpacho (I once actually saw someone vomit into gazpacho, and it looked no different afterwards than it had before), and re-fried beans, which look more like cat vomit. If anyone now feels they’ll never eat any of those again, they can just blame Nick, which is a good policy anyway. I tried dipping my chips into ranch dressing, when that option was made available, but it seemed pointless.

Before the food arrived and gave me something to do (since I don’t talk much), I did the usual social-event self-monitoring–OK, now you’ve looked at that person long enough, it’s time to look at someone else, or they’ll think you’re staring at them. If Nick has the keen peripheral vision he’d like me to think he has, he would have noticed that I did stare at him quite a bit (he was sitting next to me), and assumed I was magnetized by his good looks. I was actually wondering if a light-colored fleck on his cheek was a chip crumb or a gray hair in his beard. Oh well, by now it’s either washed off in the shower, or not. I’ll have to remember to check next time.

Thing Two, The Destroyer of Crayons, got free french fries because his food was late. Thing One, The Gazer at Screens, wasn’t sure this was fair.

Nick protected me from an ant on my plate, even though he had sore fingers from being bitten by a folding chair earlier. See, there is an officer there when you need one. Even if he lost a fight with a folding chair.

J. and the kids went home (because this movie is soooo not suitable for children), and the rest of us headed for the theater.

I didn’t really think I’d like The Big Lebowski, but I actually did. It is dopey, but a lot of intelligence went into its making. Did you know:

–“Directing” Jeff Bridges consisted of him going up to the director before each scene and saying, “Did the Dude burn one before this happens?” Since the answer was usually yes, he would get ready by rubbing his eyes until they were bloodshot.

–A lot of the Dude’s distinctive clothes were actually Bridges’ own. Sure, it all looks like it came from Goodwill, but you know the Dude would be selective about his Goodwill shopping.

–The dream sequences were lit to make them bright and sharp, the Dude’s apartment was made seedy-looking (insofar as a bungalow in Los Angeles can be made so) with grittier lighting, and the bridge between the two was the lighting they used for the L.A. skyline shots, which used the orangey-type streetlights rather than the cold bluish kind. So it, to paraphrase the Dude, tied the look together.

–Walter’s repeated admonitions to Donny to “shut the fack up” was an inside joke about Steve Buscemi’s character in Fargo, who never stopped talking.

Nick and I shared a tub of popcorn (which I hadn’t had since I retired). Once we reached into the tub at the same time and our hands touched. Yikes, cooties!!!!!

Oh, I also liked (most of) the music, especially “Dead Flowers” at the end, although it would have been better by the Stones themselves. So, all in all, thanks be to Nick, who, I am reasonably sure, would not forget to put roses on my grave.

 

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

MORE WAR ON WORDS

“This is how well gets done.”

TV AT OUR HOUSE

Commercial: “Us lives here.”

Me: “DID THEY JUST SAY ‘US LIVES HERE’?!”

Rom: “We be them.”

EASIEST-TO-UNDERSTAND COMPANY NAME

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

ASTROLOGY IN ’72!

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.

AT LAST!

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.

Highlights:

–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.

THE LEGENDARY RETIREMENT PARTY

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.

NON-PARTY-RELATED NEWS

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?

LIKE SANDS IN THE HOURGLASS, SO ARE THE DAYS OF OUR LIVES…

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.

ALIEN FINGER IS TIRED OF ALL THIS TYPING, SO I BID YOU FAREWELL.

 

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.

FROM THE RIDICULOUS…

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).

TO THE SERIOUS

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.

…BACK TO THE RIDICULOUS

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.

PARTY AT TREXA’S PLACE!

…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.

WHAT DID I FIND OUT?

–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.

 

 

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