Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: fashion

Life’s Rich Pageant: McDonald’s

I bring you the first of my Unwanted Restaurant Reviews. Any typos are the responsibility of Redd’s and not, for example, me.

No sooner did I say that there was probably already someone on YouTube doing this same thing, than I saw someone, a guy who wears an over-sized suit and Brylcreem in his hair while he criticizes Domino’s Pizza for being too doughy. (Pizza can never be too doughy, in my opinion.) Instead, you will have to visualize me in a t-shirt and hair without any styling product, and indeed, without any style.

Jimmy Fallon once said, “‘Thank you for choosing McDonald’s?’ You don’t choose McDonald’s. You end up at McDonald’s.” Aside from not being exactly true (Rom observed the other day, “I could go for 10 McNuggets right now,” without actually being moved to do anything about it), this is actually a plus in my book. Why do I like McDonald’s? Because of the ambience, believe it or not. Everyone ends up there eventually. This is where you can observe the difference between a Hippie and a Hipster, as follows:

Hippie: dreadlocks, full beard, tie-dye t-shirt

Hipster: goatee, backwards ball cap with lightning bolts on the back (thereby revealing that you’re supposed to wear it backwards and be ironic), black t-shirt with kittens fighting on the front upon a background of flames (you can only wear this ironically–the irony is built in)

COMMERCIAL BREAK BECAUSE 2 CANS OF REDD’S HAVE MADE ME THIRSTY BUT I AM ALREADY DRUNK ENOUGH, KTHNXBAI WHILE I GO GET A CAFFEINE-FREE DIET COKE BECAUSE I AM LAME

ALL-CAPS VISION BROUGHT TO YOU BY CAT TOWN, A HUMOROUS SITE WHICH STOPPED POSTING IN 2005 AND IS SORELY MISSED

By the way, this subject matter, if I ever get around to it, is brought to you courtesy of Nick, whom I unwisely notified that I was going to do this, and is now not speaking to me so I won’t be distracted. I feel used.

For a representative experience, you should go to McD’s on a weekday. Saturday is Baby Daddy Day, and Sunday is Everyone Is Eating Somewhere Else Day.

I gave my order to an employee who then said, “I hate McDonald’s food. Can’t stand it.” Way to insult the customer’s tastes right out of the gate! In fairness, she wasn’t speaking to me, but to a colleague who was ordering their employee meal.

Speaking of which, I witnessed a guy getting his Employee Evaluation (something we never got at 911, by the way). He got a good review, since he had corrected his previous problem of neglecting to wear his apron regularly.

WHAT I GOT:

Fish sandwich, no tartar sauce, because that is just mayo with boogers in it. This menu item is brought to you courtesy of the Catholic Church–one franchisee was finding Lent was cutting into his sales, so he came up with a Lenten-friendly entree (Ray Kroc’s suggestion was a pineapple slice on a bun). HONORABLE MENTION: McNuggets. These are useful, because I don’t have to make any special requests. They’re acceptable even without sauce. This comes in handy when I’m not alone, because being with someone rattles me just enough that I’m prone to forget my special needs, and end up having to scrape boogers off my sandwich. Speaking of which, McD’s current menu board is not autism-friendly, nor even friendly to other people. Not only is it constantly flashing and changing in a sensory-overload sort of way, but it will change to something else just as you’re trying to figure out, for example, what the price of an item is. There is also an apparently-still picture of a Coke, but I thought, “Are those soda bubbles moving? They are!” and there proved to be a moment when an ice cube enters the frame and dumps itself into the drink, and then I get fixated on staring at it until the ice cube falls into it again, so it’s a good thing they know what I usually order.

Speaking of innovations, I have spoken of their Retro Moderne remodeling before. I have not encountered chartreuse chairs at any other establishment. There is a middle area I call the Senior Corral, where the village elders speak of the issues of the day. (Is Obama a Muslim? Are Catholics brainwashed?). Rom hates the Senior Corral, and positions himself as far from a colorful wall covering as possible. There are two of these, one in the Corral and one on a side wall. I was greatly disoriented the other day when I went in and the central Corral one was gone, replaced by a plain white wall. I thought, That wasn’t white before, was it? No, I know it wasn’t, because I remember comparing the two walls and thinking, It’s OK that they are two different patterns because they use the same colors. This is what I do when I wear my navy-and-white-striped pants with my navy-and-white circle-print shirt. (This is called having a Fashion Sense.) Then, because they weren’t finished facking with me yet, the colorful design reappeared on that wall the other day. You gotta wonder.

My seating preference is to wedge myself into a corner, but the current free-form seating arrangement makes that more difficult, so I usually sit by the window.This has the advantage of swivel chairs, so I can make myself my own fidget spinner.

YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT ABOUT FOOD, DIDN’T YOU?

McDonald’s fries are consistently good. Rom insists they have never been worthwhile since they stopped frying them in beef tallow. I can’t really tell the difference, but he is a professional cook, after all.

McDonald’s sodas (or soft drinks, as we call them in this part of the country–I didn’t know anyone outside of commercials called them that) are also good. However, at the St Joe location, the right-hand Diet Coke spigot tends to give you more carbonated water than syrup, and the center one is prone to splash all over you. You want the left-hand one for optimal performance.

I cannot report on the sweet tea, tea being loathsome.

I finished with a hot fudge sundae. Running an ice-cream machine is a skill McDonald’s is having trouble mastering. I remember reading about a DQ that put out a sign “OUR ICE-CREAM MACHINE WORKS, UNLIKE THE GUYS ACROSS THE STREET!” until the DQ lawyers made them take it down. However, it was working on this occasion, and as good as the equivalent item at DQ.

FELLOW-DINERS’ FOLLIES

–Rhetorical question from parent to a heck-raising child: “You ever had a spanking?”

–Another parent to a toddler: “Why are you crying? Because you want my newspaper? Really?”

IT’S FRIDAY AND PIZZA TIME SO I AM GOING AWAY NOW

 

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RAMPANT MATERIALISM ON NORTH ST JOE

…or “North Street Joe,” as someone from an alarm service once called it. Which is why alarm services should stay local. Repeat after me, “Just because we can doesn’t mean we should.”

–Guys! Are you tired of moist towelettes that have scents like “Spring Blossom”? Then you’ll be wanting new “Dude Wipes”! I did not make that up. They also come in “Shower Wipe” size. Nick, are you paying attention? And right next to the Dude Wipes, you will find “Nads Nose Wax,” which “inserts easily into the nose.” Well, one hopes so.

BUTTER PECAN ICE CREAM, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE? I’m glad I discovered this stuff before I die. Lic’s even has a BUTTERNUT SUNDAE with caramel sauce! They also have “Cinnamon Hottie”–cinnamon ice cream with red-hots–which is the ice cream they’d make me eat in hell. Nick, quit taking notes, please.

–E-mail from Lands’ End, where I get most of my clothes: “We have a print polo shirt for every day of the week!” I briefly entertained the idea of having a polo shirt “uniform” to cut down on stressful clothing decisions, but then I’d have to decide which print went with which day of the week, which would only add stress.

–Headline in paper: “Theme parks adding features for autistic people.” Leaving aside the question of why autistic people would want to go to a theme park (obsession with a particular theme-park character, thanks for asking), they offer “quiet rooms” with weighted blankets. The whole weighted-blanket idea makes me feel a bit panicky, but it might actually work in practice. “You will relax!” They also pinpointed the noise from automatic toilets and hand dryers in restrooms. I can tolerate those, but I do hate them. Aside from the sudden-loud-noises aspect, why can’t we all be trusted to decide on our own water temperature and drying time? (Well, I apparently can’t be trusted to decide on a polo shirt, see above.) Anyway, these idyllic theme park restrooms feature all-manual controls and are “painted calming blue.” Would that all were like them. Hell, paint everything calming blue.

Speaking of dudes (we were, several paragraphs ago, just scroll up), in my retirement, I’ve been making much use of the pedestrian walkway over Lloyd Expressway. Recently, they painted over the gang graffiti (“Taylor Made,” get your juvenile-delinquent ass back to Taylor Avenue, and “Cream Team,” I don’t want to know where you’re from), except for “Kilroy Was Here” and “Dude.” Because who could object to Kilroy and Dude? So the structure will now be called the Kilroy-Dude Memorial Overpass. Kilroy comes first because he’s been around longest. Duude!

 

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.

 

 

Day 23: Stop Bothering Me!

Complaint of someone leaving dirty diapers in the alley….

For something completely different, there is currently a rainbow out the window. The biggest and brightest I’ve ever seen, in fact.

BUT BACK TO FASHION

The admonition to older women (notice how it’s always “older,” never “old”?) always to wear shapewear (what we old women used to call “girdles” and swore we’d never wear) is baffling in view of one of their other rules–“Never wear jeans with more than 2% spandex.” Well, how much spandex does the so-called shapewear have?

AND NOW THEY’RE STALKING ME!

I knew I shouldn’t have clicked on that fashion article. Now I have one called “20 Décor Mistakes Everyone Over 45 Should Avoid.” So now my surroundings can make me look old? I actually have no “décor” to speak of, but if they keep bothering me, I’m going to cover everything in my house with tie-dye.

I’m not going to click on that article.

Hey, this program puts an accent mark on décor! Décor, décor, décor. Classy! How about décolletage? Derriere! Look, I’m speaking French!

TIP OF THE DAY

–If you’re firing a gun in the air trying to break up a fight, make sure it’s not a stolen gun. Oh wait, it turned out to be a drug deal gone bad. Fancy that.

In other news, the police were called for someone dancing in the street. That happens more often than you’d think. At least more often than I’d think, which would be never.

 

Day 24: Q-Tips

I knew I had other stuff to write about, but yesterday I was too busy cussing at equipment, so it slipped my mind.

Speaking of equipment, the other day someone asked, “Why is it always freezing in here?” and the supervisor replied, “Well, this room is full of electronics…”  Which are worth more than we are. Gotcha. At least it beats the more common supervisory response, which is to deny that it is, in fact, freezing.

BEAUTY TIP OF THE DAY

I recently noticed while combing my hair out in the morning (I shower at night) that I haven’t been losing near as many hairs as I normally do. (No, I don’t count them, I’m just approximating.) “What positive change in my life occurred a few weeks ago?” I asked myself. “Why, I made the decision to retire!” Yes, THIS JOB WAS MAKING ME LOSE MY HAIR. Not a lot, obviously, but this is my beauty tip: For thicker hair, don’t work at 911.

Seriously, it’s freezing in here. I have long sleeves, a fleece vest, and Security Blanket over the top of it. (There was a brief intermission during which I attempted to ascertain the exact shape of Security Blanket,  for the most effective draping. It appears to be a perfect square.) I am typing only intermittently so I can stick my hands in my pockets. I usually leave the room at the end of the shift with Security Blanket over my shoulders like a cape. Unsure what super-powers it would confer.

SPEAKING OF SUPER-POWERS

I was in the weird position the other day of dispatching a run on an autistic 14-year-old who’d run away from home. Weird because, you know, I am one. One officer was telling another, “He left after an argument with his mother, and said he was going to the library and he’d be back at 5:30. He’s high-functioning, but he is autistic, so he can’t be left by himself.” Well, everyone’s case is different, but if they’d decided I could never be left by myself, I’d curl into a spiny ball and never uncurl again. It’s making me feel a bit edgy just thinking about it.

ANOTHER ADVANTAGE OF RETIRING

Maybe I’ll be able to stop dreaming about crime. The other night I dreamed I was being killed by poison gas. Rom and I were at McDonald’s, and a robotic female voice said, “Q.Q.! Q.Q.! Exit the building by the available doors!” We went outside, and that’s where the poison gas was. I was so scared I woke up. The next night I dreamed someone shot a guy who was dressed as Colonel Sanders, and was about to shoot me too. And those are just the interesting ones. I can’t count the number of times I dreamed someone was trespassing on my lawn. And I wonder how long it will take after retirement for me to stop dreaming that I’m late to work. Maybe never.

911 ETIQUETTE–ENGRAVED INVITATIONS

Officer’s notes on a run: “Brian invited Jacob over to fight. Jacob took Brian up on his  offer. Brian called 911.”

Ambulance call: “Says she fell a few months ago, hit her head and spilled her brains.” That must have been why it took her a few months to call.

Deputy on the air: “Show me out with a toilet in the road.”

Narcotics complaint: “I want to be anonymous, because I know these people and they’ll revenge on you.”

I was telling Rom stories like these, and he said, “What’ll you do for fun after you retire? I know–you can go on ridealongs with Nick!” Right, Nick? “Of course,” he says, smiling thinly.

 

I have Security Blanket on inside-out. This troubles me, but I only have 1 more hour to be troubled in, so I’m not going to expose myself to the soul-sucking cold long enough to turn it around.

FASHION TIPS

Facebook article–“20 Fashions That Make You Look Older.” It’s illustrated with a photo of an old woman with a man’s tie tied around her head. That doesn’ t make you look older. It just makes you look wacky. I’m not going to click on that article.

OK, I had to click on that article. I’m doing at least half of those 20 things. People often say I don’ t look my age, but maybe they’re just being nice.

–“The only acceptable tights are black.” No, the only acceptable tights are ones that aren’t pretending to be pants.

–“Too much gaudy jewelry.” You can kiss my ancient ass.

–“Carrying a big ‘old lady’ handbag.” I carry a tote bag with tie-dye stripes on it. Could this be what they’re referring to? You can tell I’m hip! It’s tie-dye!

–“Wearing unflattering colors.” Well, this could apply to anyone. It’s not like, “Oh no, I’m 40–unflattering colors don’t flatter me any longer.”

–“Wearing chunky shoes.” Well, I actually have an old-lady reason for that–problem feet–but I had those when I was young, too. And I don’t even like the term “kitten heels.” It means you’re trying to be cutesy.

“You’re not wearing shapewear.” I’m not wearing something that squeezes me constantly, no. Since no one has dared tell me, “You’re obviously not being squeezed–you should do something about that,” well, see the ass-kissing part previously.

TIP FOR THE DAY

If you hear a robotic voice saying, “Q.Q.! Q.Q.!,” it can never be good.

 

 

True Confessions

{Note: There was originally a line here that I edited out, and I can’t figure out how to make the white space go away, so I substituted this line in its place. Carry on.} {Yeah, I know this is more than one line, but I care insufficiently to do anything about it. Proceed.}

“YOU’RE NOT AUTISTIC, YOU’RE JUST ECCENTRIC!”

On the Anonymously Autistic blog, where I’ve been loitering lately, I found the official diagnostic definition here. (<== Look! Did you see that? I made a link! My first ever! This Blog School is turning out to be worthwhile after all! Maybe I better restrain my enthusiasm until I publish this and see if it actually works.) Leaving aside the obsessive way in which I carefully checked off each of the listed attributes and rated them for level of severity, I think I can put your doubts to rest with two simple observations:

  1. I rock back and forth when I listen to music. They call this “self-soothing” behavior, which I originally took issue with, thinking, “How would I feel if I didn’t do it? Oh–nervous and twitchy. OK.”
  2. As I walk along {“I wonder what went wrong, with our love, the love that was so strong…” Sorry. Too much listening to music.}, I often recite sequential lists of dates. I will not bore you with how these dates are selected.
  3. OK, make that 3 observations: I have difficulty recognizing people’s faces if I encounter them outside of their accustomed settings–colleagues outside of work, parishioners outside of church, Nick pretty much everywhere, etc. (I worked with that poor thing IN THE SAME ROOM, ON THE SAME SHIFT, FOR A YEAR–or so he claims–and don’t remember it.) My husband is the only exception. So if you run into me at Walgreen’s, or follow me down the street in your vehicle hoping to give me a ride, expect a blank stare initially. The only way to avoid that is to live with me for years. No, I’m not inviting you to move in.

Where the “high-functioning” thing (or maybe just “maturity”) comes in is, I’ve learned to not display my weirder traits in public, and I’ve also mastered Life Skills 101 (although I’m not sure about Life Skills 201). For example, not knowing how to dress properly got me in trouble at 3 different jobs. Since there were no dress codes to tell me exactly how to proceed, I just wore what I did when I wasn’t working. Back then, that involved lots of see-through shirts, halter tops, and black goth-y stuff that hadn’t yet become fashionable. So one supervisor told me, “Just because there’s no dress code doesn’t mean you can wear whatever you want.” See, I’d thought that was exactly what it meant. The “obvious” alternative–looking around to see what other employees were wearing–simply never occurred to me. How did I eventually discover that tactic? I read it in an article. Combine that sort of thing with my belief that making sustained eye contact with anyone will turn me to stone, and you can see why employers used to edge me out as soon as they could figure a way that wouldn’t involve paying me unemployment benefits.

Along with Life Skills, a structured and/or familiar environment helps a great deal, so I know just what to expect. I also have various Rules, so I don’t take forever to make decisions like, Where should I sit on this bus? What color underwear should I put on today? (Although I actually make those particular decisions in the reverse order from the way I just listed them.) (You know, it JUST OCCURRED TO ME that I could solve that one problem by just buying all-white underwear. You learn something new every day!)

Also, here (again from Anonymously Autistic) is an example of how one can “build” small talk “from the ground up,” so to speak.

Well, that was somewhat embarrassing, but I’ll live. Enough about me and why I’m weird. I’ve already dawdled over this post for too long, afflicted with “but what if they don’t want to read about my problems?” Well, if you don’t want to read about my problems, YOU’RE IN THE WRONG PLACE.

WHAT OTHER PROBLEMS DO I HAVE?

I have scratchy glitter on me from carrying Christmas packages. This is not optimum.

BUT LEST YOU THINK ALL I DO IS COMPLAIN…

I’m happy because I discovered rose-scented Vaseline for my lips.

AND, IN THIS SAD AND DESPERATE WORLD, I NOW HAVE A HERO!

“Real-Life Grinch Caught On Video Stabbing Inflatable Snowman.” Yes, Yes, YES!!!

 

 

The Myth of Scratchy Glitter

A few people have gently suggested (well, Nick not-so-gently) that maybe I should post something. And Blog School prompted, “If you post regularly for six months, what would you hope to accomplish?” I hope to accomplish posting for six months, obviously, now that I’ve established that you can’t take that for granted. And, daring to nag me further, “If you blog regularly for the next year, what would your goals be?” I believe I made myself clear in my very first post that I GOT NO GOALS. This is just inchoate rambling. If you find it charming, good.

ENDLESS DRAMA CANNOT CHANGE

I dreamed I was a political prisoner, and one of my captors said, “You know, I’ve always hated you.” I found this ominous, under the circumstances.

FASHION POLICE ALERT

I like to visualize the outfits on suspects described to us by 911 callers. My previous favorite was the guy who shoplifted a whole outfit, from hat to shoes, in shades of blue and white. But the best possible outfit was produced by a woman who was described as wearing “a black top with unicorns on it, and no pants.” You know, no pants goes with everything.

911 OVERHEARD

“So there’s an eyeball in the middle of your rug staring at you?….Ma’am, we can’t help you with a spider.”

DID YOU KNOW?

…that calling 911 is not like ordering in a restaurant? You don’t get to specify what happens. For example, saying “I want him arrested” doesn’t make it so.

Caller: I want to report my car stolen. This guy said he was going to fix it, but he didn’t, and he’s got it locked in his garage and won’t let me have it. {Turns out, by the way, that she hadn’t paid him, which she didn’t mention when she called.}

Me: Ma’am, that’s not a stolen vehicle. That’s a civil disagreement, and you need to contact an attorney.

Caller: But there’s no contract!

Me: That makes no difference.

We went back and forth with “Does too!” and “Does not!” for some minutes, before I finally said, “I’ll send you an officer anyway, so he can tell you the same thing I just told you,” and she talked over me and ended with “And I’m going to get a stolen report!”

Well, she did not get her wish, which led to…

“I want to file a grievance. That sergeant didn’t do anything he was supposed to.”

Me (genuinely curious): “What was he supposed to do?”

“Take all our information and charge this guy with auto theft.”

I said, “Well, you could call internal affairs, but that won’t turn it into a stolen vehicle.”

She screamed, “What a bitch!” and hung up. Hey, maybe she was the person who hated me in my dream.

BLOWS AGAINST THE EMPIRE

The city still doesn’t provide us with paper towels in the break room, thinking that’s a luxury the taxpayers shouldn’t have to underwrite. But after the dispenser in the restroom had been refilled, and the previous roll with just a little left on it had been put on the top of the dispenser, I made a Command Decision and took that roll into the break room. Next time I looked, it had been brought back into the bathroom. ACCEPT IT! THE CITY WANTS YOU TO WAVE YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR UNTIL THEY DRY!

I ASK YOU TO JUDGE BETWEEN US

I was walking down St Joe the other day, and a car on a side street had its snout stuck into traffic. When I started to cross the street, it pulled back, so it was no longer impeding my progress. I nodded, acknowledging the courtesy, and crossed. Then I heard someone yelling behind me, “You never even looked!” I turned around, my mind doing its usual clumsy gear-shifting in spontaneous human interactions–“Why is that person yelling? Is he yelling at me? Who is that guy, anyway?” Bear in mind that I was thinking that last as I was LOOKING AT HIM. It took a moment (about as long as it takes when the newscaster says, “And we’re live with our reporter on the scene” and said reporter just stands there blankly for a moment until they hear the prompt in their ear) before I realized it was a certain Nick, with whom I have a passing familiarity. He was wriggling with excitement and delight at seeing me so unexpectedly. He was accompanied by his mate and his–well, “spawn” is such an ugly word, so let’s just say “cubs.” He said they’d actually been stalking me for some blocks, waiting to see if I’d notice. As, he implied, any normal person would have. The question I put to you, FanBase, is, Do people normally peer into every small black car they pass, to see if they know someone inside? I thought not.

 

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.

 

 

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…”

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“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.

 

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