Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: fashion

Actual Witch, No Costume Needed

HALLOWEEN REPORT

Just my usual, orange skull t-shirt (the black one bit the dust last year because I mysteriously got a chocolate stain on it), too much makeup (Onyx eyeshadow and Currant lipstick), and my witchy hair, which is sunbleached and too reddish by now to be scary. Unlike my eyebrows, variously characterized as “like Frida Kahlo” and “like a serial killer.”

TRICK-OR-TREATERS AT MY HOUSE

–a wizard and Pikachu. Unknown in what universe these two would coexist.

–a ninja and a knight. Or whatever has a silver knight helmet and a red scarf over its face, I don’t know.

–a man and his son who apparently dressed up as each other. I was drunk by then, so I’m not sure. And I was distracted by the fact that the grown man also had a trick-or-treat bag, so he could get as much candy as his son.

What I’m getting at here is, I ended up eating most of the Kit-Kats myself.

IN OTHER KIT-KAT-RELATED NEWS…

Bet you never thought you’d read those words!

I read a story on Facebook in which a man left a Kit-Kat in the drink cup in his car. He came back to his parked vehicle and found the Kit-Kat gone and a note which read: “I love Kit-Kats, and I tried your door and it was unlocked, so I took it. I didn’t take anything else. I’m sorry, and hungry.” The comments on this story included The Two People Who Comment On Every Internet Story:

  1. “He obviously made this story up just to get his 15 minutes of fame,”
  2. and, “How can all you people think this is funny? What’s funny about a hungry person reduced to stealing a candy bar?

CRISIS IN PROGRESS–THERE’S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING

“Caller said his neighbor threatened him with a crossbow. Other party also called and said the original caller threatened him with a golf club.” You know what they say about bringing a golf club to a crossbow fight.

MORE COMPLAINING ABOUT STUFF

There is now a spring-loaded glitter bomb. I am opposed to glitter because I don’t like texture. Everything should be smooth and soft.

AND STILL MORE

I clicked on the wrong thing and deleted my entire post. This is rewritten from memory, so if it doesn’t meet your expectations, that’s my excuse. Now my hand hurts from typing. (You know, the one I slammed on the concrete back in May.) Life is hard.

 

 

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Not Good At Life

The title is courtesy of my life coach Nick.

On the way home from work last night, it suddenly came to me–“I really miss blogging.” Well, WHAT’S STOPPING ME? And thank you to that person who keeps checking back, which I can only interpret as stalking.

Since I have obviously lost all sense of responsibility to my readership, I will dispense with explanations and apologies, and just get right into it.

A REMINDER FROM THE FASHION POLICE

Leggings are not pants, flip-flops are not shoes, as it is, was, and ever shall be, world without end, amen.

PROPOSED AUTOMATED MESSAGES FOR TEXT FROM 911

“Your cell phone called 911. If this is a butt dial, your butt is apparently smarter than you are.”

“Your cell phone called 911. Did you know that those flip phones you make fun of old people for having make it virtually impossible to butt-dial? You may wish to consider purchasing one.”

“Your cell phone called 911.  Merely dialing us, then continuing to scream at the other party without telling us where you are is not accomplishing anything.” {Nick, if you say, “‘Dialing?’ Who still says that?,” I will stripe you.}

“Are you calling to report a wreck? Don’t you see all the other people who whipped their phones out at the same time?”

“If you’re  calling because you’re involved in a domestic dispute, and you see that the other party is already calling, there is no need for you to call also ‘to tell your side of the story.'”

WAYS TO START A CALL THAT STRIKE FEAR INTO MY HEART

“I have a situation…”

“Let me give you a little backstory…”

“Three years ago…”

ADVERTISEMENT FOR A NEWS SITE

“Dive into Election 2016!” No, eww.

I just broke a fingernail plugging my phone charger into the wall. Not good at life.

What You’ve All Been Waiting For

BUT FIRST…

“What we’ve been waiting for is a damn post,” they interrupt testily. “Didn’t you say something about trying to write every day…again…”  Well, I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. “Then why didn’t you write about it?”  It never stops, nevernevernever stops…

Ahem. My birthday was Saturday, and featured a surprise VISIT FROM NICK, with his mate and pair of spawn in tow, all in red shirts. I don’t think that man knows how to dress unless some type of uniform is involved. (No, Nick, I will not take fashion advice from someone whose shoes fall apart.) I also got a SURPRISE HUG from the same individual, which mildly alarmed me, and a birthday card congratulating me on turning 85, which just goes to show that a beast can’t count. Seriously, I’ve always wished there were specific cards for all ages–“To A Special 37-Year-Old…” Did you know that Rom once thought he would die at 37? See, he’s not always right. I once dreamed I died at 83, on March 16 of whatever year that would be. (Now who can’t count?) I ought to sign up for one of those services that send you an email from yourself on a specified future date. On March 16 Whatever Year, I’d read “Have you died yet?” and promptly die of fright. I would die as I’d lived, namely, ironically.

Thornton’s gave me 10 cents off a gallon of gas for my birthday, showing a lamentable lack of knowledge of my buying habits. Lands’ End gave me a 20% off code, which I will not use to buy green gingham shorts, unless I happen to be drunk at the time.

A NATION IN CRISIS

Stephen Colbert informs us there is currently a national surplus of cheese. Rom & I are doing our best to address this, thanks to a recent shipment of Wisconsin cheese from my sister. You all need to help out and eat an extra 3 pounds of cheese a year, or the extra cheese will…get moldy, I guess. Moldier.

“BUT WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO EXPLAIN THE TITLE OF THIS POST?” THEY INTERJECT, GIVING ME AN EXCUSE TO USE ITALICS AND BOLDFACE SIMULTANEOUSLY.

Well.

In spite of my charming/disarming tell-all tone in this venue, it is my habit to keep my personal plans to myself, in case…well, in case someone uses the information against me, I suppose. It’s like when I’d go with colleagues to the FOP Club in the 90’s. I’d drink too much, turn sullen, then call a cab, slip out and wait for it on the corner, without telling anyone I was leaving. You know, being mysterious and stuff. Or the way I never want to tell my co-workers which shift I’m picking until the last minute, even though I always pick the same one anyway. SO, recently I caught myself thinking, “I wish I could tell my FanBase what I’ve been doing lately,” and realized, What’s stopping me? It’s my own blog, after all.

“…which nobody will be reading if you don’t get to the point,” they point out. 

So.

What I’m getting at is, when I turn 62 at this time next year, I’m planning on retiring. (I already feel panicky, like I should qualify that–I mean, it’s always possible that the numbers won’t add up like I think they will, since I’ve already proven I can’t do math.)

I went to one of the retirement workshops sponsored by our pension fund. I ran into someone I used to work with, which was kind of embarrassing, in that “Well, what are you doing at this whorehouse?” sort of way. I also picked up a magazine called “The New Retirement,” put out by AARP, who ought to know, I suppose. It included an article about financial planning, which mentioned that a professional financial planner can help you come up with a plan for your pension and Social Security. You mean, other than letting them send me a check every month? Because that was my plan.

So this will be the last year of the Crisis In Progress department. I will now be a lame-duck dispatcher. I’ll be doing a bunch of stuff at work for the Last Time, probably getting sentimental about stuff like being yelled at on the phone. “No one will ever say they’re paying my salary again!” Perhaps I will become dangerous and yell at them on the phone. I hope to have a drunken retirement party–if you play your cards right, you may get the “House of the Rising Sun” karaoke I’ve been threatening for years. And if I take up skydiving in retirement, you’ll be the first to know.

 

Your Car Is Not a Boat

One would think that was obvious, but the hordes who insist on driving into high water, “Turn Around Don’t Drown” be damned, prove otherwise.

Also, don’t call 911 just to say the streets are flooded. What do you expect us to do about it? “You need to get barricades out here and block the street.” No I don’t, for 3 reasons:

1. The city doesn’t have enough barricades to block every street that floods OR enough officers to stand there and direct traffic,

2. By the time we could get barricades to all those places, the water would have gone down anyway,

3. Even if the above 2 things were not true, people would drive around the barricades anyway.

Yes, I work for the Department of Boundless Cynicism. But my eyes are not red, no matter what Nick says.

MORE SHOPPING FOLLIES

Remember my ranting about Walmart? The other night, we needed to call an ambulance for one of their loss-prevention people because he was chasing a shoplifter and ran into a door. With his head. HE RAN INTO THE DOOR. WITH HIS HEAD. And then wanted to file assault charges.

Spellcheck is telling me that Walmart is not a word. Would that it were so. And don’t bother saying, “But I bet you like their low prices!” because I never go there. It is sensory overload incarnate.

STREET NAME CENTRAL

A couple of suspects were known to the caller only as “Rara” and “Shy.” Since he burst into a motel room, displayed a gun, and hit someone in the head, I don’t think he was really shy. Also, “displayed” a gun always makes me think they’re gesturing toward it and smiling like Vanna White would do.

Speaking of street names, HEY FOXY! I feel bad about not posting on your birthday.

USEFUL PROVERBS

From my colleague 911SK: “A turd rolled in litter looks better than just a plain turd.”

And from me: “If it smells like dog poop wherever you go, you might check your shoes.”

FASHION REPORT

I’m wearing my impersonating-an-officer outfit–navy blue quick-dry cargo pants and navy blue shirt. Just give me a gun and a  taser and I’m set! “NO!” Nick blurts out hastily. “Do NOT give her those things!”

MY BIRTHDAY HAS A CHANGE OF VENUE

Remember last year, when I had a party at the Howell Park shelter house, which was re-painted for the occasion? And I reassured you that I’d never have a birthday party again? Well, I lied–the Catholic Diocese of Evansville will be having a Mighty Mass (yes, I made up my own title, lest you blame them for it–the actual title of the event is “Rejoice!,” as all must do at the commemoration of my birth) at the Ford Center, on the eve of Pentecost, which is–you guessed it–May 14 this year!! I hope the thousands attending remember to bring me presents.

AND SPEAKING OF CELEBRATION…

Facebook says May 7 is World Naked Gardening Day. This is to “celebrate nudism in nature.” Well, since all the animals are naked, I’d think we’d have enough celebration, but apparently not.

AND JUST WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO HIT “PUBLISH”…

Amazon urges me to buy a shower gel dispenser shaped like a giant nose, and the product comes out of…yeah, you guessed it. No thanks. What’s next, a giant pair of buttocks?

 

 

 

Crisis In Progress Returns

…as had to happen eventually. “Why is my leg bothering me?” I wondered at one point. Oh, right, I have a dog bite. That’s another reason cats are better than dogs–a cat would not run out and bite me because I walked by on the sidewalk while it was standing in the yard.

A co-worker asked a caller, “What is he wearing?” Everyone else in the room yelled, “Khakis!” Such are the times we live in.

“A black truck with flames painted on the front hit a sign.” That’s what they do.

A large black beetle dropped from the ceiling, landed on my console with a combination thud and click which I found highly unsettling, and scuttled away. I can only hope it did not find its way into my backpack.

 

MILDLY AMUSING ADVENTURES–OTHER PEOPLES’ PHONE CALLS I OVERHEARD

–From a guy at McDonald’s who looked about 12 years old: “What if I worked at this McDonald’s? Then what would you do?”

–From a gray-haired woman pushing a stroller up Wabash Ave.–“There’s no reason why my psychology grade wouldn’t be an A.”

Seems to be a lot of self-righteousness going around.

THE FASHION POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED

I bought quick-dry pants for commutes on rainy days. They are navy blue and have so many pockets that I worry about being mistaken for an officer from the waist down.

AND CONGRATS TO MY COLLEAGUE KMILES, WHO WILL BE RETIRING IN A MONTH! Even though she’s younger and newer than I am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 20: Leather or Rope?

Don’t worry, it’s just about some bracelets I was looking at. The answer is leather. The idea of scratchy rope around my wrist sets my teeth on edge.

IN PURSUIT OF INAPPROPRIATE HAIR

I read that the shag haircut is back in fashion. Since it’s now supposed to be a good thing, we call it “shag” now instead of what we’d recently been calling it, namely, “mullet.” (The first reference I saw to it in the 70’s called it the “baby eaglet look.”) (And have you ever seen an eaglet? They’re really ugly.) Anyway, that was my high school haircut. (It made me look like Austin Powers.) Any votes for me getting it again? New year, new look? You cannot dissuade me by saying, “If you’re old enough to have done it the first time around, you’re too old to do it now.” That only encourages me.

 

Nick Provides Free Entertainment, and the Annual Festival Report

…And isn’t it about time?

I was taking Nick to the Fall Festival, because the Department had decided it would be good PR to exhibit a police beast, allow children to climb on him, perhaps even take short flights. I came equipped with a switch. Before you call me inhumane, let me just say that, due to his armor-plating, it hardly hurts him at all. It’s more the idea of it that’s…motivational, because he is a prideful beast. More useful, I suspected, would be the muzzle. It’s not so much the biting I was worried about–although, of course, the possibility cannot be ruled out–but the likelihood of his making sarcastic remarks to the public.

“Making sarcastic remarks to you, you mean,” he said fretfully. “That’s really why you brought it. That’s probably why you accepted this assignment.”

“That and the overtime pay.”

“Overtime pay? What do get out of it?”

“You get to not be whacked with this switch.”

“I could get that at home. Most of the time, anyway.”

I glance at the booth we’re walking past. “Would you like a pronto pup?”

He considers. “I think I’d rather wait until it grows up into a corn dog.”

“They don’t use real puppies, you know.”

“Then why do they also have Puppy Chow?”

I sigh and refrain from answering, because I actually don’t know what “puppy chow” is in this context, and I want him to think I know everything. At any rate, you can see why I would want to muzzle him.

WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM ABOUT NICK, WHO HATES BEING THE CENTER OF ATTENTION ANYWAY, TO BRING YOU…

…well, nothing especially important, but it has to be said before I forget it again.

COMMERCIAL ABOUT HOW GREAT LASIK SURGERY IS:

“Now, when I wake up in unfamiliar situations, I can see everything clearly!” Um, is that a frequent problem for you? I’d settle for just being able to tell if that black fuzzy object in the shower with me is a clot of hair or a spider.

CRISIS IN PROGRESS PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

If you get thrown out of the Fall Festival by the police because, by your own admission, you were “acting like a jackass,” don’t keep calling 911 to complain about it, because guess what happens? Hint: You’ll only be allowed one phone call, and I recommend it not be to 911.

AND SPEAKING OF SAID FESTIVAL…

When you say, “I like to go for the people-watching!” just remember, YOU ARE SOMEBODY ELSE’S FREAKSHOW. I’m sure I am, as in, “Look at that old lady with the snake tattoo and the crucifix!” Actually, at the moment I am riding a wave of fashionability, since my rose-print tops, longish skirts, and virgin eyebrows (be it here known that no hair on my body ever gets torn out by the roots) are currently considered edgy and cool. In another 6 months, the proper authorities will be saying, “We must have been mad! All that stuff is actually frumpy, dowdy, and sloppy!” Again. Meanwhile, I will still be wearing it. This is called “having a personal style.”

And speaking of the festival some more, a guy behind me in line said to his friend, “Last year, we were down here from 3 to 11pm!” And they say don’t have a life.

Blogging Paying Off For Self-Described Introvert

…or so the local paper tells us. This woman blogs about the outfits she wears each day. Since I myself am a self-described introvert (see? I just described myself), and this blog has yet to “pay off” in any discernible way, I am henceforth going to regale you with daily accounts of my clothing, until it leads to fame and recognition, or until you or I get tired of it. At the moment I am wearing a plaid flannel bathrobe and a lavender nightshirt with pink and white flowers on it.

I am on vacation. (Do not use the word “vacay” around me, OK? Or “cray-cray.”) Since my vacation started on a Sunday, I was unable to obtain apple ale in a timely manner, which Nick seemed to think was a good thing, although I did not misbehave in any way the one time he saw me sort of drunk.

Yeah, this isn’t much of a post, but I’m trying to be more reliable about this. After all, I don’t want to go a day without a clothing description.

I’m Jumpin’ Jeanne Flash

…AND IT’S ALL RIGHT NOW…

–Went to vote, knocked my head on the top of the booth, which made the side panel fall over, which knocked the stylus out of my hand. Went on to select leaders for my community, most of whom didn’t win.

–Went to McDonald’s, prudently pushed my hair out of the way of my hot fudge sundae, failed to notice that fudge had dripped down the side of the container and gotten on my fingers, ended up with a surprising amount of hot fudge in my eyebrow, which I did not discover until several people had had a chance to see it. Luckily, my brows are black, so maybe they didn’t see it.

STUFF OVERHEARD AT MCDONALD’S

–A small child being told that “I go potty!” is a  more acceptable thing to say than “I go poopie!,” but that neither of those is really suitable to yell at the top of one’s lungs in a public place.

–A tableful of retired guys opining on the subject of police take-home cars. They were agin it. “I can see it for a K-9 officer, because he might be called out with the dog. But otherwise, no.” “A police car shouldn’t just be sitting there all night doing nothing.” “With all the cars the department has, they wouldn’t have to be driven around the clock anyway. Saves wear and tear on the cars.” Considering the number of times officers have told me, “I was late getting out on the street because I had to wait for a car,” I suspect the retired gentlemen don’t know how many cars the department actually has. Of course, officers could be making excuses to me, I suppose.

So neither the young nor the old were really pleasing me yesterday. Of course, I’d hit my head on a voting booth. so there you go.

NOBODY KNOWS THE TROUBLE I’VE SEEN

I was momentarily troubled the other day because my broccoli/cheese casserole was on the opposite side of my tray from where Wesselman’s had placed it the last time I’d ordered that item. However, I was able to get on with my life. It wasn’t like the previous day, when a crisis was narrowly averted–I discovered before I left the house that the pants I’d selected were actually black, instead of the navy blue I’d intended. Putting on unplanned pants would have bothered me all day. Asking the fashion question–Is navy blue the same as black? 

A PUBLIC DISSERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

A billboard down the street from my house features the sad eyes of a child, but the accompanying writing is tiny and purple on a black background, so you can’t read it unless you’re standing right by it (as opposed to, say, driving by). It says, “Avoiding Eye Contact Is A Possible Sign Of Autism.” Way to keep it a secret!

 

 

 

July 4th Follies

Yeah, it’s two days later, but it’s not like I’m under contract or anything.

RED, BLACK AND BLUE

Because I didn’t have any white garments available, my outfit consisted of black U.S.A. t-shirt, blue crop pants, and red socks. “But, World Leader,” they say, “doesn’t wearing socks kind of cancel out the coolness of crop pants?” Yeah, but I hate the look/feel of shoes without socks, so what else can I do? “Wear sandals?” they offer timidly. I will take this suggestion under advisement for next year.

FIREWORKS: THREAT OR MENACE?

Why do people bring their own fireworks TO A FIREWORKS DISPLAY? I have to say, I was scandalized to come here and find out that non-professionals can buy their own fireworks. Not to sound Big City or anything, but it makes us seem kind of redneck. Especially with the houses catching on fire and all.

Speaking of which, the paper felt compelled to mention that you shouldn’t drag a lit grill behind your vehicle. “Why would you?” comes to mind. Perhaps someone could answer that for us. See, I don’t have all the answers after all.

THIS JUST IN

More details have come to light on the temporary murder of Bingo Pingo. Turns out that he was standing on a log, and a witch came up behind him and pushed him. But wouldn’t you think that a witch could use spells, rather than the primitive and risky method of pushing someone off a log? For that matter, what about the deaths of Honn-Ghost and Fronn-Ghost? They’re ghosts–weren’t they already, by definition, dead? Mysteries abound.

CORRECTION

Because I believe in responsible journalism, I must state that the color scheme of the women’s restroom at Thornton’s is, like that of the men’s room, tan and brown. But a different shade of tan and brown.

BECAUSE I CAN’T RESIST A DARE…

Rom and I were talking about Martin Luther’s “95 Theses” (it only came up in passing) (AMATEUR THEOLOGIANS, UNITE!), and he said he thinks I could come up with 95 World Leader edicts. I told him I doubted I had that many in me, but he assured me I was mistaken. So perhaps I’ll get started on that, but I’ll have to work on it in fits and starts (I have a fit, then I start), in between my other important projects.

Time to go eat more pink cupcakes.

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