Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Walgreen

I Am a Cannibal

Hey, they said to start with an attention-grabbing title! And now that I’ve got your attention, since I screwed up the punchline of the joke I ended with last time, here is the actual joke, for the 2 people who haven’t heard it:

–A farm boy and his girlfriend are walking along a country lane through his father’s fields. They see a cow and a bull doing, um, what a cow and a bull do when they love each other very much. The boy turns to his girlfriend and says, “I’d sure like to be doing what that bull is doing right now.” The girl says, “Go ahead. It’s your cow.”

What I am getting at here is that I will be cannibalizing previous posts, since there’s funny stuff in them, especially from work, that I’d forgotten. Sure, you could say I’m doing it to make up for the fact that I no longer have access to fresh material along that line. You could say that, but you’d hurt my feelings.


Did you know that blogging is something you can do while you have the hiccups? As opposed to saying the rosary, or reading aloud to myself (one of my autistic things, I’ve done it since I learned to read), which are my other options at the moment. But, lest my faithful FanBase feel like a mere convenience, let me also observe that as soon as I sat down here and started, I thought, “God, I love this! Why don’t I do it more often?” This may be because I’m drunk, but in vino veritas, as them ancient Romans used to say, and I’ve found it to be frequently true. Or to be true frequently. Syntax is not my strong point at the moment. I’m actually not even sure exactly what syntax is, but it sounds good. (Charles, can you help? I remember you mentioned it once in an email in the 90’s.)

(“Stop pounding the keyboard!” Alien Finger whines. Why did I need to dislocate that finger, anyway?)

WordPress is now telling me, “Subscription required for speech features!” I don’t know what button I hit. I wasn’t trying to talk to anybody, God forbid. I can barely handle what to italicize.


“Deaconess Comprehensive Pain Center.”


Dear A Certain Person, I saw 2 items at Walgreen’s you need–a spider skeleton, and a Mexican Day of the Dead-style Rottweiler. Sure, I could just send you these items, but then I’d need to pay for them. (“Does she know my address?” A Certain Person wonders nervously.)


I said it before and I’ll say it again–“tactical pants” is a silly term. “My pants are an integral part of the plan.” Right, Nick? Rom says he’s holding out for strategic pants. Until then, he wears Real Workwear jeans from Rural King, the official men’s pants of the West Side. Rural King is Rom’s favorite designer.


They do, too, have pumpkin pies. The Marketing Book lied to me. They are not quite the same as the previous ones, but are “pumpkin cream pies,” with a quantity of white stuff which has a cheesecakey quality. I eat them every chance I get.

Donald Trump recommends Big Macs and Quarter Pounders. Of course, this is a man who believes that exercise is bad for you.


The only thing I found of note in my very first post (“What Are You Doing Here?” February 2013) was the observation that “The Internet lets a cult of personality develop around a person with no charisma.” Um, yeah.

Desperately Posting

…as A Certain Person accused me of doing. Well, desperation is never far away. But I owe you a


–$25 in winning lottery tickets from the Birdman. It seemed appropriate to spend lottery winnings on alcohol, which was consumed long ago. Of course, now I have other alcohol, to observe what they insist on calling the “4th of July holiday weekend,” in spite of its occurrence on Tuesday, which is not even near a weekend.

I also got gift cards for Walgreens and Visa, which I have already spent, and hope to remember what I spent them on once I sober up. It wasn’t more alcohol, though.

$150+ from people at work paying me to go away! This requires some thought. I once dreamed I got 3 roses tattooed on my butt. That might be a wise investment for these funds. Perhaps I should take a poll.

Speaking of which, in my estimation, a tattoo’s workmanship and originality count for naught if it is also ugly. I saw a woman with an elephant’s head with ram’s horns, impaled on a stick, tattooed on her arm. I picture her talking to the artist–“I want an elephant head with ram’s horns on my arm. It has great significance in my life.”

Do not get a nose ring that looks like a drop of snot hanging out in profile. In fact, do not get a nose ring at all. What if you sneeze? GROSS. I am now retired and don’t have to care if you think my disapproval old-fashioned. Speaking of which, I saw an ad for leggings that said, “You’ll never wear real pants again!” See, even the MAKERS OF LEGGINGS admit they’re not really pants.

McDonald’s yesterday was full of hipsters. They even ordered hipster stuff like a McFrappe (or whatever they call them) with just a large order of fries for lunch. It looked like a McDonald’s commercial, except that their clothes didn’t fit as well.

CVS ad–“Long Live Skin!” It’s guaranteed for 2 weeks after death, you know. (That was a sign at the place where I got my tattoo, many long years ago.)

Nick has offered to let me live in his basement. He seems to think it would bring him good luck.

Dear Ideal Reader…

Yeah, that’s today’s Blog School assignment. Do you feel ideal yet? I’m feeling ideal, having had 1 1/2 cans of alcoholic beverage. You know the one.

Yes, I’m sidestepping the assignment. I have no idea who an Ideal Reader of this blog might be. I do know that an ideal existence would not include the mosquito which is currently attending me.

You know you’re hopeless when you get to “Need help? Read the Tips for this assignment” and you don’t understand the tips either. Pingbacks? Trackbacks? I don’t even know what they are, how can I decide whether to allow them?


The ideal Diet Coke fountain to use at McDonald’s is the left-hand one. The middle one splatters soda all over you, and the right-hand one spits carbonated water into your cup for a moment before consenting to give you Coke.

Speaking of which, the St Joe McDonald’s got a fancy new menu screen in an attempt to look like the big-city one at Lloyd and Rosenberger. It features a video with a Caramel Frappe which looks like pouring puke into a cup. I found the screen somewhat intimidating, until I realized the menu itself hadn’t changed.


“Subject is talking about an All-Seeing Eye. Put his arm into an anthill, got ants on himself, and told caller he was going to go give a church a plague of ants.”


Which I report on every year, you may remember. Walgreen’s stock included a Spooky Witch Wig, which consisted of long dark hair, with light hair in front. Like I, you know, have anyway. All year long.

I planned to write some other stuff, but I’m drunk and flighty, so you’ll have to be content with this, unless I wander back here later.

Don’t Fear the Reaper     

I think everyone knows who this title was stolen from, but YOU CAN’T COPYRIGHT A TITLE!


I was sent out of the house so I wouldn’t get in the way of preparation. (All hail to Rom and D., who did everything.) Rom had planned to put those number candles on my cake (said cake being a pan of brownies, so dark that their batter looked like asphalt), but was thwarted because $ General was out of 0’s. (Or they figured people with “0” in their ages don’t want anyone to know their age.) I did find 0’s at Walgreen’s, but by then it was too late, and he had committed to candles which spelled out “Happy Birthday.”


The last time I’d been by My Shelter House, as I now think of it (hey, it was our polling place for many years, too), I disapprovingly noted the peeling paint, and hoped it would be spruced up in time. Apparently we were the first people to reserve it this year (hey, it’s not even Memorial Day yet!), because they called Rom and asked when we intended to get started (our rental fee entitled us to occupy it from noon until midnight, although Nick ordered us to be out by 11, so he wouldn’t have to deal with us professionally), so they’d know when to be done painting. So you can thank me for the beige paint with dark green trim.

I had been starting to think, “A party! What was I thinking?” and getting panicky, but I thought, You have several bottles of sedative on hand, so chill. “Only 3 bottles?” I asked Rom, checking the fridge once we got there. “I don’t want to see you after more than 3,” he responded grimly.

I was delighted to see some former co-workers I seldom get to see, as well as current Tolerable Co-Workers, as they are known, as well as my Numerous and Aggressive In-Laws, as they are properly called. I must mention the brilliant collection of cards,  including 911 references (how common are these among the ranks of greeting cards, really?), and one with actual Scratchy Glitter on the front, which, for some reason, although I loathe it, I feel compelled to touch every time I encounter it. Ew ew ew ew ew, as Eminem said about certain strange and disgusting sexual practices involving tubing.


Yes, there were some, even though I hadn’t asked for any. I didn’t refuse any either, though.

Today I used my gift card for Thornton’s. I figured it was the perfect excuse to try the dreaded Roller Grill Item, which actually turned out to be pretty good. Since there’s no place to sit down in Thornton’s, I took my Item and my drink and trundled across the street to Walgreen’s, where I had a little picnic on their bench under the awning, safe from both the blazing sun and the giant storm cloud, which for some reason were both in the sky simultaneously, and neither of which I wanted to be under.

I received gift cards for Walgreen’s! and for Barnes & Noble! and for Canton Inn! and will report back on what use I make of them, and, for that matter, how I manage to get to Canton Inn, which will probably be a story in itself.


I was solemnly presented with a creepily natural-looking crow, which has been handed down to several people celebrating significant birthdays. We proceeded to argue about whether it was taxidermy or not, and whether it had actually made a noise, or whether we’d just imagined it. I thought it should croak “Nevermore,” or, as one of Rom’s nieces once thought it was, “Quoth the Raven, ‘Never mind.'” Puts a whole different spin on the poem, doesn’t it? At any rate, the Old Crow now perches above this computer until I can figure out who else to bestow it on.


A couple people asked if the fabled Nick (one person actually called him that) was going to make an appearance. I was even asked if he was a real person or just a fictional character. The latter theory was gaining credence as a couple hours went by without him. After 2 1/2 bottles of apple ale, and a little too much food, I started thinking I might be about to be sick. I headed for the bathroom in case this happened, but luckily the crisis passed. And who should I see when I came back out, but the said beast himself, proudly carrying a 12-pack of ale, in case I needed more. He was duly inspected by the gathered FanBase. His lack of fire-breathing ability was deplored, but the length of his fangs and scaliness of tail were much admired, until all the attention made him slink back into the outer darkness, though not before grabbing a quantity of brownies.

While Nick was out of the room, Rom thought it would be fun to play with Nick’s younger cub, who had been gleefully running around up to that moment. So Rom charged at the cub while making a monster noise, causing the poor thing to flee in a panic, squealing in terror and flapping his tiny wings.


I include it here because we had it at such a polite volume that probably no one could hear it.

–Bruce Springsteen, “Darkness on the Edge of Town”–because I walk streets of fire, obviously!

–R.E.M., “Out of Time”–That’s me in the spotlight, that’s me in the driveway, losing my religion…

–the Doors, “L.A. Woman”–I had to include some Doors, and this one doesn’t have any songs that are 20 minutes long and involve screaming.

–Blue Oyster Cult, “Agents of Fortune”–this features “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” which Sister Elizabeth told me she considers my theme song. So I’ll just have to have it played whenever I walk into a room.

Here I Sit, A Skeleton, At My Piano

…to quote from my Halloween soundtrack, the Roky Erickson tribute album, “When the Pyramid Meets the Eye.”

Actually, here I lurk, like a spider, in my house. And like a spider, I will withdraw into a corner if disturbed. I actually considered not turning on the living-room light to avoid attracting the attraction of strangers demanding candy, but reluctantly decided that would be cheating. I do not, however, throw the door open if I see someone out the window, as Rom would surely do.

Sign at Walgreen’s–“We Have All Your Halloween Needs! Open at 7AM!” Um, that’s not one of my needs, today or any other day.

Sign at McDonald’s–“Please Remove Your Mask Before Entering.”

Sign at even-more-paranoid $ General–“Please Lower Your Hood and Remove Your Mask Before Entering.”

Luckily, my costume consists of a t-shirt and too much makeup, so I didn’t have to remove anything.

Contents of Walgreen’s basket–Astroglide and Aquaphor Lip Repair.


Unlike most scary stories, it doesn’t feature Nick, who is currently at the state taming facility, where only the most humane methods are used, I am sure.

I was at McD’s, peacefully eating my lunch and questioning my wisdom in sitting so near the door (but changing places once I’ve settled on a location is Against the Rules), it being annoyingly windy and brisk. (Eating with my coat on is also Against the Rules.) {“What does Against the Rules mean?” they whisper amongst themselves. Um, Google “stereotypical repetitive behaviors” and you’ll probably come up with something.} An oldish man came up to me and said, “I’d like to give you this. I see you in here a lot,” handed me an envelope (sealed with a 1-cent stamp), and hurried out the door before I could say the first thing that came to mind–“Am I obligated to have sex with you if I accept this?” The envelope contained 2 BIC pens in purple and pink, from the heretofore-unknown-to-me “BIC For Her” collection. So did this guy buy these pens because they were on sale, then realize he didn’t want to use lady pens? Did he buy them for a friend or relative who died unexpectedly, and then think, “Well, that lady I see at McDonald’s all the time might want them”? Did he steal them? Questions abound, especially since I keep making them up.

I was going to include a step-by-step account of what happens when you call 911 and won’t tell us where you are (something people are fond of doing), but I don’t feel like it right now, and you can’t make me. Speaking of which, no, Nick, I will not include a poll asking if readers want me to volunteer for a ride-along with you.


The Whole Pink and Nothing But the Pink


Walgreens (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

New product reports from Walgreen’s (with which I am not affiliated, and for which I get no money):

–Softsoap new antibacterial formula–“Caution–Refill bottle only with the same formula.” They’ve finally achieved the dream of all companies–come up with a product where the bottle actually explodes if you use their competitor’s product!

–“Pink” brand lubricant for women! (Write your own punchline.)

–Annd, “Pink” brand laxative for women! “Works gently, for sensitive stomachs.” Is the female colon actually more sensitive than the male? I want to see the relevant studies. On second thought, no, I don’t.

Speaking of which, I read an article which stated, “Studies have found that men have the same emotions as women.” Rom said, “They do, but they’re simple and pitiful.”

And speaking of the wisdom of Rom, I was taking issue with something posted for 911 dispatchers on Facebook, saying, “To your caller, you’re a hero!” “Not so much that I’ve noticed,” I said. Rom responded, “Well, if you want a dip cone, the clerk at DQ is a hero.”

Sad Salad-Eating and Involuntary Roller-Coaster Rides

English: Tornado Fries

English: Tornado Fries (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

These titles just keep getting better, don’t they? “No one cares about your diet. Just eat your salad and be sad.”

But there was no sad salad-eating at McDonald’s today, where I encountered Tolerable Co-Workers Christine Cecelia (sp?) and Office Manager Nancy. I seldom eat with people other than Rom (who’s used to my eccentricities) or my in-laws (who are so busy talking they don’t notice), so I felt compelled to explain that I discard many of my french fries because they have pointy ends, which make them too crunchy, like potato chips, which I dislike. When I rule the world, I’ll pay someone to sort them out for me. (And you know I’ll be a benevolent ruler, because I’ll pay someone to do it, instead of just telling someone, “You’ll do it OR ELSE.”) And I made a big mess with my dip cone, but you can be assured that just because a shard of chocolate falls off and lands on my place mat does not mean it won’t end up in my mouth.  “But you walk it all off anyway,” they said reassuringly, although I suspect my doctor won’t agree when I see him this week.

Before I forget–Chris pointed out that I never did say whether Suave Daily Clarifying Shampoo was cheaper at Dollar General or at Walgreen’s. The answer depends on what you mean by “cheap.” (“I mean not expensive,” I can hear Chris saying.) It is cheaper per ounce at DG, but they only have the large-size bottle at $1.75, while the smaller bottle at Walgreen’s only costs $1.

Nancy told a story about going to an amusement park and not realizing she was in line for a roller-coaster ride (and not the tamer ride right next to it) until she got right up to it, so she had to ride the roller-coaster anyway. This story intrigues me. Was there a sign that said, “No Mind-Changes Beyond This Point”? “Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter This Line”? Because, even if I couldn’t get my money back, it would take armed guards to get me to set foot on a roller coaster. As a headline the other day said, “Riding Zipline: an Adrenaline Junkie’s Dream.” I would say, “Riding Zipline: Welcome To My Nightmare.”

Speaking of headlines, here are a couple from today’s paper:

“Beating Autism Possible?” Um, I suspect beatings wouldn’t help.

“Facebook Helps Abuse Victims.” Hey, no fair!

Sign outside the Pet Food Center: “See Our Huge Stock of Hummingbird Supplies!” You know, hummingbird harnesses, toys, etc.

Notice to the unruly Facebook FanBase crowd: Calling me Muffet, with or without an honorific, will lead to reprisals.

Not Tonight, I Have a Headache

tips added and modeled, august 2005

tips added and modeled, august 2005 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I really do, so I will leave you with only 3 observations:

–My new agent Lynbob has been working tirelessly on my behalf. Agents get 15% commission, so I’m giving her 15% of what I make from this thing. You do the math.

–Alert in CAD: “Subject is missing her right leg from the knee up.” I dutifully copied it onto the run card, and then thought, “Wait a minute…”

–There is now deliberately scratchy/gritty-textured nail polish. It’s called “Sugar Coat.” It would drive me mad.   It’s the nail polish they’d make me wear in Hell. Just seeing the display at Walgreen’s set my teeth on edge. And thinking of gritting my teeth makes my head hurt, so make that FOUR observations, namely….

–Nothing like having to laugh at Someone’s comment on my previous post, which made my head hurt worse! Nick, you’re a fiend!


Holy Week: Moneychangers’ Monday

The Internal Revenue Service

The Internal Revenue Service (Photo credit: Martin Haesemeyer)

Holy Monday was traditionally regarded as the day Jesus chased the moneylenders out of the temple, so I decided to observe it by doing my taxes. Actually, at the moment I’m doing this instead of my taxes. I have all my paperwork spread out as a sign of my good intentions, in case the IRS should conduct a raid on my office (studio? den? lair? whatever you call the room where you write) in the next few minutes. This is similar to leaving the vacuum cleaner out in the middle of the floor, to show that you really intend to vacuum any minute now. This is the last year we’ll be able to do our beloved 1040EZ, since Rom will be getting Social Security now (which will legally empower/require him to sit in the elderly/handicapped seats on the bus). So I guess I’ll then have to go whining to Lisa like everyone else.

And why, you might be asking (well, you might be–work with me, OK?), would I expect there to be an IRS raid on my house? Because Nick works in mysterious ways. In other words, guess who I ran into at Thornton’s today.

Luckily, I had no items from Walgreen’s in my bag which he could demand I show a receipt for. And we pretended his offer of a ride home was just professional courtesy, instead of a ruse to find out where I live at last. (Clue: it would be the house with the name “McBride” carved in stone out front. Literally. On a big tombstone-like rock. It looks like we have one of my in-laws buried in our front yard.)

Him: “I’m not calling this off, so don’t give me any trouble.”

Me (nervously): “Hope you don’t get a run.”

Him (cheerfully): “Well, if you can’t open a normal car door, you sure won’t be able to open mine.”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

So naturally I’m imagining any number of runs that could turn into an involuntary ride-along experience. (Actually, for me, any ride-along would be involuntary. If I wanted the excitement of putting myself in physical danger, I’d have become a police officer. Well, I would have if I wasn’t legally blind, but you get the idea.) I like to think that if it was a low-priority run, he’d have deposited me safely at home first, but you never know. But no run was forthcoming, so this didn’t turn into a Not At All Amusing Adventure. I was delivered to my driveway, where Rom was waiting, who would of course have kicked Nick’s ass if he’d tried anything. “Brought home by the police?” he asked. Yeah, it’s a way of life.

Can I turn an uneventful day into a long-drawn-out story, or what? It’s a gift. At least, I think that’s what they call it. Thank you all for helping me postpone doing the taxes.

%d bloggers like this: