Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Making the World a Better Place

photography of bus stop during winter

Photo by Micael Widell on Pexels.com

…one bus stop at a time. And I hope I never get stuck at the bus stop in this picture. It looks like a criminal mastermind stuck it out in the creepy woods, but when you sit down, it whisks you away to their arctic headquarters. Or something. It’s just too new for such a remote area, you know? Plus that creepy blue light. And is that snow or rocks piled up by the side of the road? WELL?

Anyway, I have made it my mission (and a modest one it is) to clean up any trash I find at the bus stop near my house. Especially since this only involves taking it across the $ General lot and throwing it in the trash can there.

I tell you this not to give myself a Good Citizen award, but to note a weird facet of human psychology I’ve observed in the course of doing this.

Once, back when it was still cold, I saw a blanket and a sack of clothes on the bench. I thought surely someone must have forgotten these items, so I left them undisturbed so the person could come back and get them. But they remained undisturbed, blocking access to the bench. But the Real Problem was that, as the days passed, more  trash got piled up on top of them–more and faster than I’d usually observed. Apparently the presence of a significant pile over several days convinced people that this was a Designated Drop-Off Site and it was OK to leave their trash there as well. So I gingerly picked up everything and carted it to the Dollar General Dump, and trash deposit returned to its former occasional occurrence. Although if I ever share the stop with the person who keeps leaving gallon containers partially-filled with pink fluid (some sort of “juice drink”–the flavors vary, but it’s always pink), I may have to address them directly.  (“And get your finger dislocated again,” Nick says, in his capacity as my Life Coach.)

THERE GOES THE NEIGHBORHOOD, PT. II

Which is worse:

–a sidewalk overgrown with weeds, because the homeowner thinks that A.) the City sends somebody by to take care of it, or B.) no one actually uses the sidewalk, right?

or

–a sidewalk overgrown with weeds which the homeowner has dealt with by means of chemical spray, which leaves them dead and brown, BUT STILL STANDING THERE??

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Write! Write! Write!

person holding pen leaning on table

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

Yeah, and guess who couldn’t tell from the tiny sample picture that the person in this photo was writing music, and then I couldn’t figure out how to remove a picture, or if it’s even possible. At any rate, there’s a button in the corner of this page that says “Write,” so that’s what I’m doing. No, I can’t write music, either.

I’M TRASH AND I’M TROUBLE

There is, at the present time, a board with a nail in it on the ground down the street from my house, just waiting for some hillbilly to grab it and use it in a fight. And don’t think that wouldn’t happen around here. There is also an old couch in my back yard. (The people who brought the new couch wouldn’t haul the old one away, so Nick had to haul it out of our living room with his powerful jaws. Rom then beat it half to death with a sledgehammer.)  But we have been outdone by our neighbors down the street, who have an old mattress on their front porch. They thought the Heavy Trash people would pick it up. They were wrong, so there it stays.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?

Almost back-to-school time, because everyone’s forgotten that back-to-school should be in September. I still like looking at school supplies, and found myself wondering if I could still find a use for construction paper. Is there a use for construction paper by anyone other than elementary-school children? The same question could be asked of papier-mache.

THE PERFECT FINAL TOUCH

–Vultures circling at Franklin St./St Joe Ave. No, I’m not dead yet, in spite of this fiendish heat, which is, of course, not caused by climate change, because climate change would mean we shouldn’t be driving quite so much, which is, of course, unacceptable.) SEE HOW I MADE A PARENTHESIS HERE, EVEN THOUGH I HADN’T STARTED ONE, BECAUSE I AM PARENTHESIS-ADDICTED. I am also drunk. Because a guy on the TV said we shouldn’t drink during the heat wave, so of course I had to do it. We boomers are irrepressible.

KUDOS WHERE DESERVED

Whatever “kudos” may be, I issue them to my former co-worker 911SK, who (having left 911 for less-stressful climes at the Water Dept.) said she wanted to stuff ice cubes down her pants in this heat, because “it’s a clam bake down there.” Now I will think of that whenever I go out in the heat. We need more clever sayings by women.

But it’s back-to-school season, so it’s bound to cool off soon, right? RIGHT? Oh, that’s right, we don’t go back to school in September anymore. We know better somehow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holiday Complaints

defocused image of illuminated christmas lights

Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán on Pexels.comWell

Well, the year is half over. Time to complain about Labor Day/Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas/almost time for New Year’s. How time flies.

I speak from the unique perspective of a rock star who’s also running for President. (“And has a pet dragon, don’t forget,” says Nick, curled at my feet.) I am capable of simultaneously wishing time was up and we already knew who the Democratic nominee is, and realizing this knowledge will not affect my vote.

A ROM-STYLE OLD-FASHIONED RANT

“Schools struggle with teaching slavery.” The reason is that re-enacting slavery in the classroom proves traumatizing to kids. How about…hear me out…we just READ ABOUT IT, AND SAY IT WAS BAD, WITHOUT FEELING COMPELLED TO RE-ENACT IT?  Looking at modern education as an autistic person, I have to say it was easier to pass for neuro-typical in the old days. If I had to re-enact stuff as a matter of course, I would for sure need special classes. “Senior service projects”? You have to “go out into the community” in order to graduate? Call me special-needs.

This is making me flash back to work-related “role-playing” training, and required visits to other agencies to see how they did stuff., and having other people “sit with you, and watch you answer 911 calls.” It still makes me want to scream. Hmm, it would have been interesting to have screamed at work. Maybe I’ll go out there and do so. I’ll have to call on the outside phone, and say, “I worked there for 30 years,” and hope someone remembers that no one has yet worked there longer.

WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL SHOOTING OFF FIREWORKS??? FOR THAT MATTER, WHY ARE THEY LEGAL FOR CIVILIANS??? SURELY MY QUANTITY OF QUESTION MARKS WILL DO SOMETHING????

 

 

 

 

 

 

Donald Trump Is the Antichrist For Our Time

silhouette of statue near trump building at daytime

Photo by Carlos Herrero on Pexels.com

I was watching the news, and they were covering a Trump rally which had not yet started. Music was playing in the background. “Screaming guitar,” Rom noted. “I know that solo–every note of it,” I said, thinking hard, then I realized–“Sympathy for the Devil!” Sympathy for the facking Devil, I thought (thereby taking the Devil’s name in vain). What the hell?!

Turns out this is a regular feature of these rallies. (By the way–campaign rallies right after the election? Need to be stroked much?) According to reporter Ryan Lizza, Trump has put together a mix tape (or whatever we call them these days), and the band most represented is the Stones. Trump is open to suggestions, however–Lizza was told, “The more inappropriate for a political event, the better.” I doubt anyone is going to come up with anything less appropriate than a mission statement from Satan, however.

The thing is, Rom and I had been joking earlier that maybe Trump is the Antichrist. “I expected the Antichrist to be slicker,” Rom said. But maybe we’ve created the Devil in our own image–coarse, crude, and he’s figured out that what’s wrong with lying in politics is that no one’s lied often enough. Plus, for sheer pettiness, you can’t beat going to court to argue that you shouldn’t have to provide people in detention centers with soap. Of course, at least one of his supporters has argued that the solution to the problem is to “Shoot ’em!” (Disclaimer: I am not for “open borders.”)

Of course, someone could always claim that this post is motivated by the fact that I myself am running for President. (By the way, I will not be at the debates tonight, having a polling number of 0%.) I need to get those “I’m the Outsider!” t-shirts printed up. As soon as I finish the ones for the Sour Neon Crawlers.

 

Dear Diary…

purple leather notebook black pen and brown branches

Photo by Alena Koval on Pexels.com

…I’m not sure what the twigs in this photo would be used for.

DEATH & TAXES UPDATE

From the state Department of Revenue: “We calculate your refund this year as $55, not the $121 you stated on your return. If you wish to dispute this, you may use the enclosed envelope.”

  1. If you already know how much it should be, what are you bothering me for?
  2. No, I do not wish to dispute this. I wish to back away from you slowly. I know a dragon curled on a pile of gold when I see one.

ROOM FOR IMPROVEMENT

I have been inundated with messages on “How To Be a Better Blogger!” If I was going to become a better blogger, I’d have done it by now.

ADVERTISING UPDATE

Febreze ad: “Your house smells musty because it contains soft objects that trap odors, then release them back into the air.” No fair! Why can’t they just trap the odors and keep them? “Febreze can even be used on clothes you want to wear another day!” Yeah, along with your dry shampoo for “the days you don’t wash your hair.” Let’s just live in filth. {Disclaimer: The other day, a Cheerio rolled off the table and into the corner, and I thought, No, I’m not eating that.}

Home decorating ad: “Our flooring will give your home that vacation feeling.” Rom: “That’s a lot to ask from a floor.” {Obviously, my kitchen floor does not give us that feeling–see above.}

VOTE FOR ME, I’M AS GOOD AS ANYONE!

In fact, better than some–I can make a public statement without saying anything stupid or abusive! Or get my picture taken without shoving others aside to get to the front of the line! And I know the place for my signature is at the bottom of the page! I have so much to recommend me.

WHAT MY OPPONENTS’ OPPOSITION RESEARCH WILL REVEAL ABOUT ME

Yesterday, Rom called me from the bike shop and told me his new bike would cost more than twice what we expected. Luckily, there was no one else at the bus stop to hear me cursing. Fiercely brooding about this, I got off the bus and headed for the convenience store, to drown my sorrows in a fountain drink. I obtained same and headed out the door. “Hello!” the clerk said. “Hi,” I answered, wondering why he was saying that as I was leaving. Turns out I’d forgotten the paying-for-it part.

 

Freedom Day

grayscale photography of waiting shed near open road at night

Photo by Alexander Kovalyov on Pexels.com

I guess everything looks cooler in black and white, Even a bus stop.

FLANNERY O’CONNOR AT THE BUS STOP

Flannery O’Connor was Catholic and wrote weird stories about the South. At any rate, the same woman who had previously announced at the stop that she’d shot a diseased chicken with a shotgun was there today. She wears glasses and has hair dyed pink and red, with dark roots, which reminds me uneasily of something I might have done at her age. AND SHE WAS TELLING US ABOUT HOW HER FAMILY ALWAYS TALKS ALL THE TIME AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS LIKE SHE DOES, AND IF YOU CAN’T KEEP UP, TOO BAD, AND ONCE HER COLLEGE PROFESSOR GAVE HER AN F ON A PAPER AND SAID IT WAS “INCOHERENT RAMBLING.” Meanwhile, her man, a soft-spoken guy with the accent of his native Pennsylvania (according to him, I didn’t think he had any accent) was wearing a t-shirt with an old-timey newscaster, and the words “THIS JUST IN. YOU’RE AN IDIOT.” Actually, I am a very stable genius. I have to tell you, or else you’d never be able to figure it out.

IRONY ALERT

A picture of an old-timey 50’s newscaster signals that something ironic is about to be expressed. Similar, but more general in application, to a picture of a smiling old-timey 50’s housewife, which signals something ironically feminist, because all old-timey housewives are assumed to have been repressed and miserable and in a state of desperate denial . Get it?

CAMPAIGN NON-PROMISES

I need to update these, as 2020 is, well, not fast-approaching, exactly, but you get the idea.

If elected, I will not:

  1. Alienate our allies.
  2. Suck up to dictators. (I will be a dictator unto myself.)
  3. Impose tariffs on everyone even though I don’t understand how they work.
  4. Say that you owe me an additional 2 years on my term for daring to investigate me.
  5. Pay someone to block the release of my tax returns/school grades/SAT scores. My state of stable geniushood should be obvious to all.
  6. Dye my hair an unnatural color.
  7. Have a fake tan. Actually, have any tan at all.

So, if you’re trying to think who to write in on the ballot, keep me in mind. Then they’ll have to go looking for me. It’ll be like John Galt in “Atlas Shrugged.” Except better-written.

Oh, and the title? I retired 2 years ago today.

The Moral of the Story

black bird perching on concrete wall with ocean overview

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com

A couple days ago, I missed my bus, for the usual reason of letting Rom show me points of interest in the yard for too long (and, I must admit, prolonging our romantic leave-taking). OK, I thought, I will walk down to St Joe, which takes me 20 minutes or so.

I got to the top of the hill, turned, and felt a warm splat on my face. Ironically, a couple of days previously, I’d thought, It’s surprising, with all the walking I do, that I don’t get pooped on by birds more often.

It got on my face, my hair, my pants, my glasses. Suddenly I lost all appetite for walking to St Joe, especially since I was wearing dark clothing (as I usually do), which made what had happened all too evident. I walked back down the hill, glasses clutched in one hand, and one eye squeezed shut, since the stuff was threatening to drip into it, in spite of my flailing at my face. There actually is a story in the Catholic Bible–you know, the one Protestants didn’t take books out of–about a man who slept out in the open, and birds pooped in his eye, and he went blind. (Yes, there’s a lot of weird stuff in Scripture.) I was fairly sure that, due to being legally blind, I would trip or be hit by a car, but neither occurred.

So I got home, cleaned my face, hair, and eye with makeup-remover wipes, and changed my pants. Rom said he’d never seen so much bird poop on a person, and speculated that it had been a large bird like a crow. Hence the illustration. Also keep in mind that crows are probably the smartest animals other than us and the great apes. (I don’t know about the not-so-great apes.)

But what is the moral of the story, you ask?

Well, Rom said, “It seems like Someone doesn’t want you to go out.” Nevertheless (and ever the more), I went out again anyway, and got on the next bus. At a stop down the way, a couple was waiting, but all they had was a $5 bill. They asked if anyone on the bus had change. And guess who had a wad of $1 bills, thanks to McDonald’s being short of 5’s? Considering one of them had a lunch box, and they were willing to use a $5 bill for a $1.50 fare for the two of them, I bet they got out at Walmart to work, not shop. So maybe Someone wanted me to take that bus, although I question the use of bird excrement to achieve the desired end.

VOTE FOR ME! I’M THE OUTSIDER!

And I know what it’s like to be shat on! And if I get any subpoenas, I’ll just ignore them. Why not?

Disclaimer: The author of this post received 1 or 2 subpoenas in the course of her job, when she had one, and did not ignore them.

 

Here I Am

2 BEVERAGE-RELATED TIPS (I REFUSE TO CALL THEM “LIFE HACKS”)

–Do not get an alcoholic beverage in your eye.

–Look at your water glass before you drink from it, unless you want an ant in your mouth. Rom’s response was, “Dead or alive?,” as if that made a difference.

WordPress is telling me, “Try the new block editor and level up your layout.” I don’t even know what that means, so I guess I don’t need it.

VOTE FOR ME, I’M THE OUTSIDER! 

Are you desperate enough yet?

THE WORST PHONE SCAM EVER

Rom’s phone rang. He was napping, so I answered it. The India-accented caller seemed surprised at hearing my voice, but then said, “Do you want Cialis erection medicine–for your husband?” To buy time while I gathered my wits, I said, “Excuse me?” (a tactic I learned at 911–911 builds character!) He hurried on, “Or Oxycontin or Fentanyl–we have very good prices!” You know, something tells me that reputable pharmacies do not call you out of the blue and offer you opioids.

macro photo of black carpenter ant on green leaf

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

 

 

Greetings from Cobra Rose

nature red love romantic

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.comS

Sorry I haven’t been around much, but it seems that retirement has robbed me of material. For instance, today I was remembering the time a 911 caller made an obscene suggestion, and I responded, “Only if you like big butts and you cannot lie” and hung up. He must not have liked them, since he didn’t call back.

The above blue rose caught my attention, because during my 1st abortive attempt at college (there have been 3 in all, all abortive), my friend Rick hypnotized me, and gave me “blue rose” as my snap-out-of-it word (kind of like a safe word). Yes, I am easily hypnotizable, but I tend to freak out. If I ever founded a company (but why would I?), I would call it Blue Rose Enterprises.

Today is my birthday. At the time and place I was born, it was 54 degrees, wind 16mph out of the NNE. So I was born in a cross-fire hurricane.

THIS POST IS AN EXPERIMENT OF SITTING DOWN WITH NOTHING IN MIND AND SEEING WHAT HAPPENS. What happens is that I don’t put this disclaimer at the start, as I should have.  I will sue Redd’s for this.

THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO WISHED ME WELL ON FACEBOOK, IN CASE I DON’T REMEMBER TO GO THERE AND DO SO. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY AND I’LL POST IF I WANT TO.

 

 

 

 

 

 

OK, Whatever

couple kissing together standing near people

Photo by Tan Danh on Pexels.com

I typed in “whatever,” and this is the only picture that came up. Whatever.

NOW IT CAN BE TOLD

Nick is no longer a police officer. He came over for his no-longer-a-police-officer present, and we hugged for, I’m guessing, less than the 20 seconds required for a hug to have its effects on your health, so I’m safe.

That sounds like a hug was his present, which is, I believe, illegal. His present was actually a Donut Bank t-shirt, since he can now go to Donut Bank without people snickering. You know, cops, donuts, etc.

It also sounds like the police department threw him out, which they did not. He threw himself out.

Spellcheck says “donut” is not a word, but fack them. Yes, I’m drunk. It’s April Fool’s Day, and that is the quickest way to become a fool.

THERE WILL BE, AS EVERY YEAR, LIVE-BLOGGING TO ACCOMPANY DOING MY TAXES, WHICH, I BELIEVE, THERE IS A DEADLINE FOR.

IN RETROSPECT, NO, THERE WAS NOT. YOU CAN’T TRUST ANYONE THESE DAYS.

 

 

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