Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Halloween

The Beast Is Back

But first (Nick groans and slouches down in his seat)…


I refused to look at it. It isn’t even September yet.


“Extreme Couponing Workshop.”

Every word of this is wrong. “Extreme”–really? I lead a dull life, and even I think coupons are boring.  “Couponing”–is not a verb. Spellcheck backs me up here. “Workshop”–how hard is it? Cut them out and you’re done.


The deodorant function still works. The antiperspirant, less so.

Speaking of which…


Me: “Why is she spraying antiperspirant on her chest?”

Rom: “Why is the bottle shaped like a dildo?”

Well, drat, it’s later than I thought. So I’ll just post this much now. Nick, consider yourself teased.


Actual Witch, No Costume Needed


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.”


–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.


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?


“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.


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.


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.



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.

Something Scary, and a Review of Halloween

Well, the word came down that, after the last debacle (“the last act of heroism, you mean,” Nick corrects me), Nick has to wear his harness at all times when on duty.

“I can’t walk in this.” He squirms on his back, attempting to dislodge it.

“You know, you’re acting exactly like someone who won’t get any chocolate.”

“Chocolate!” He leaps to his feet, all traces of infirmity banished.

“No, you have to earn it.”

“You always say that.” He flops back down, folding his wings (carefully, since the hole from the burn has been patched). “It’s almost time for me to go home anyway.”

“Not if I give you an overtime assignment.” He growls (quietly, lest I accuse him of insubordination), lashing his tail with his back to me. I tuck my feet back under the couch to avoid the lashing tail.

Without turning around (but his ears are laid back–keeping an ear on me, as it were), he says, “What you said the other day…that I used to be a man…is that true?”

“Would I lie to you?” The ears are flattened further, and the tail speeds up.

“Then how did I…become as I am?”

“You offended a great and powerful sorceress.”

The growling gets louder…and then suddenly stops, and the head droops to the floor.

…to be continued, one can only assume.


Kids–be scary, OK? I’m tired of princesses, ballerinas, and Spider-Men without number. The only actually  scary costume I saw was a Grim Reaper with a jack-o-lantern head.

Also–if I drop candy into your bag, don’t just stand there, still holding out your bag until I drop more in. That is just rude, and since you weren’t wearing a scary costume, you don’t scare me.


A man in a yellow car with purple flames painted on it said he was robbed of 50 cents. Turns out a guy asked him for 50 cents, and he felt scared, so he gave it to him. In case you were wondering, “feeling scared” does not a robbery make. Plus, what’s he got to be scared of? His car has flames on the sides!


We haven’t heard from Fiona and Archer since they were 3, I believe. Now they are 4. While getting ready for Halloween…

–Fiona, putting on doctor costume: “I was born to do this!”

–Archer, putting on astronaut costume: “I was born to be a superhero.”

Don’t Leave Syrupy Trays

…as the saying goes.

I will finish the latest adventure of Nick, because the subject of same has given up hope of it ever being finished, but is too proud to beg. Oddly, for once it hasn’t been delayed because I couldn’t think of an ending. I thought of it as soon as I got into bed after writing the first part. But, since nothing will get me back out of bed except the need to pee, it fell by the wayside.


Yesterday, I did the tiniest and most obscure good deed ever.

McDonald’s now serves breakfast all day (all hail them!). I don’t use much syrup on pancakes, but I do use some. When emptying my tray into the trash the other day, the syrup container tipped over and spilled all over the tray. I thought, That is going to be a difficult cleanup for whosever job it is. So, yesterday I made sure to first drop the little syrup thing into the trash, and then dump the rest of it in. Of course, no one will ever notice, “Hey! There’s one less syrupy tray than there was yesterday!” But it’s still The Right Thing To Do. DON’T LEAVE SYRUPY TRAYS.

…In a world of too many Christmas inflatables, do we need Halloween inflatables? (This question is rhetorical. You know the answer.)…

Lest you think I am a bastion of virtue, something I said at work tonight was deemed a “jewel of sarcasm” by a colleague. As the saying goes, being good at sarcasm is like being good at torture (quite a bit like it, when you think about it). Everyone notices it but no one admires it. YES, I SAID THAT IN A PREVIOUS POST, WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?


I haven’t had to use that title since, I think, the mid-90’s. But these are difficult times. The City Council said the administration has to come up with even more spending cuts. I know! Make the dispatchers bring their own toilet paper! You know, one way or another, property taxes are paying for my paper towels, so I don’t quite see the point of all this.


A Clean Bill of Health

Forgot to mention–during my ordeal, Ez stuck her head in the bathroom door to check on me–then immediately withdrew. Which goes to show that an animal’s love is not, in fact, unconditional.

I am in a good mood, because I will not have to drink that stuff for another 10 years, and I might be dead by then. Not only did it taste like the devil’s attempt at 7-Up, it had the consistency of spit.

As a souvenir, I have a big grape-colored bruise on my arm, due to difficulties getting the IV started. I should have known when the woman doing it said, “You know, I really appreciate it when it acts like it’s supposed to.” Which means that it either acted like it was supposed to, or it didn’t. At any rate, it will be 3/4 sleeves for me for the foreseeable future, because it looks like I tried to inject drugs, but was incompetent. Which I probably would be if I did. Today I wanted to wear one of my rose-print sweaters, and had 3 color choices with the desired sleeve length. “Multi Floral”–nope, too multi-colored, might match a bruise on the arm too well.  Black and blue print–not even to be considered. I settled on “Coral Bliss with Bavarian Cream,” which is probably the most overwrought color name Lands End has yet come up with.


Halloween decorations are not allowed to go up until October.

Speaking of the season it ’tis (I say redundantly), at Walgreens they have a life-sized witch statue, which startles me every time I go in. For one thing, she’s almost exactly my height. (Nick, do not breathe one word. Not a single word, understand?) As happens every year, I had to restrain myself from spending 99 cents (because they think we won’t notice that that’s basically $1) on a black silk rose with my choice of red, purple, or silver glitter, because what would I do with that? Stick it in my mailbox at work? Speaking of self-restraint, I was enticed by a display of Disney Villains makeup. Now I don’t need more makeup, but who could resist eyeshadows with color names like Dungeon and Scream of Fright? (“Not you, certainly,” says Nick, laying his hand on his taser, as he so often does when he’s in uniform in my presence. He must be easily frightened.) I will probably be kept from purchasing these by a dilemma–I have a sentimental attachment to Maleficent, because I had a Sleeping Beauty book as a kid, when the Disney movie first came out…but the colors in the Evil-Queen-from-Snow-White palette would actually look better with my coloring. Yes, the villainess from Snow White doesn’t have a name–they just call her Evil Queen. If I were an evil queen, I’d do something about that.

Speaking of evil, I was pleased to note that, for the first time, the concept of the Evil Clown is really taking off this year.

(Disclaimer: Unlike all other bloggers on the face of the earth, I have not been able to figure out how to negotiate a lucrative tie-in, so Walgreen’s is not, in fact, giving me a lifetime supply of Halloween decorations in exchange for this post. Even though there is a creepy spider living in my bathroom. And even though when Rom took his pack down from the hook,  70+ stink bugs came trooping out like the passengers in a clown car. An evil clown car.) 

I Have Flat-Lined

Well, my statistics have, anyway. Apparently people will go away if you ignore them. Well, except that one lonely reader on the 29th. Stalker. No, I can’t tell who you are. Relax.


Prepare to be appalled–if you’re not, you’re PART OF THE PROBLEM.

Three teenagers were sitting in a booth at McDonald’s, two guys and a girl. One of the guys mentioned Joan of Arc. The girl said, “Who’s that?” He answered, “A female who led soldiers in the Middle Ages.” The girl said, “Well, I didn’t learn about princesses. That’s fairy-tale shit.” Um, no, that’s not a fairy tale. That’s what we call “history,” which means it ACTUALLY HAPPENED. (Also, Joan of Arc was pretty much the opposite of a princess.) Of course, maybe they don’t teach history in high school anymore. They’ve been told not to teach entire novels anymore, so I take nothing for granted.


Speaking of which, I hate “the new normal.” The term is always used when something sucks, and they’re telling you there’s nothing you, or anybody, can do about it, which is puzzling, considering that the suckage is usually caused by, you know, people.


The other day, I heard an officer on an off-channel say that I was “jacked-up.” I then proceeded to prove him right by fuming about it to my co-workers for the next ten minutes. Oddly, I was also once referred to as “laid-back” by a different colleague.


Remember I quoted from an article the other day about losing weight by avoiding stress, and avoiding stress by using mint/lavender/vanilla fragrances? I found a candle at Walgreen’s that combines them all (in separate layers, lest confusion reign)! If I can’t resist purchasing it, I’ll be sure to let you know how much weight I lost as a result!


CVS started putting out Halloween decorations BEFORE IT WAS EVEN SEPTEMBER, and my early favorite is various animal skellingtons–cats, rats, crows, etc. (Actually, I don’t think there is an “etcetera.” I think you’re limited to cats, rats, and crows.) There are also a couple of Evil Clown statuettes (the Evil Clown being a role model of mine), but I don’t know if they were actually for sale, or just standing guard over the cats, rats, and crows.


The next time a caller complains about unsatisfactory response time, insufficient manpower, etc., I may not be able to resist saying, “It’s because of all the people voting for property tax caps.” (I did not, before you ask.) I probably will be able to resist saying it, though, because I have awesome powers of self-control.

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.


I Was Born in a Cross-Fire Hurricane

–Actually, I was born on a day in the mid-60’s, with a light breeze (typical mid-May in southern Wisconsin) (actually, I’m guessing colder than that, as I was born at the ungodly hour of 7:25AM), but it’s easy to get carried away when they’re playing the Rolling Stones at McDonald’s. (They were tuned to the Mid-Century Modern station–the next song up was “Rebel Rebel.” Is this a great country or what?)

I didn’t actually intend to post at this time, but here you go. Scratchy Glitter–brought to you by Addictive Behavior! And speaking of S.G. in a rock & roll context, I have noticed a tendency among FanBasers to call me Scratchy–kind of like Pink Floyd. (“By the way, which one’s Pink?”) I have mixed feelings about this. I suspect the average person (but you’re not average, are you?) would be less inclined to think of me as Dangerous-When-Provoked-Scratchy and more as having an itching skin disease.


Provoked by a horror film fest on TV:

–It is unrealistic to depict zombies grabbing poles and shovels and using them to smash the windows to get at people. (You know, “unrealistic” is kind of a weird word choice here.) Zombies aren’t smart enough to use tools. They would smash the windows with their hands, and not care if their hands fell off.

–And then we had a movie which involved endless footage of people going through tunnels with flashlights, which bored me so severely that I was glad of the rare occasions when something jumped out and killed someone. And could we at last do away with the scene in which your companion is following behind you, and then suddenly he’s not, and you call his name–no answer, and then you say, “IF THIS IS YOUR IDEA OF A JOKE, IT’S NOT FUNNY!” And then you encounter your companion’s dead body. How many times must we endure this?


Not only do we have orange Halloween lights outdoors, but I’ve encountered a Halloween garland inside, which was black instead of green.

Hmm, something is rustling behind me. Ez, is that you? If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny. Let’s assume it was just the cat and move on.


It really is too bad that Nick’s ridealong fantasy won’t come to pass (since he’s changing shifts to get out from under my thumb). It would have made the ultimate blog post. I had a title picked out and everything. He’s even offered to buy me a 6-pack of apple ale if I volunteer in the future. While I’m sure I could use 6 bottles after such an adventure, that isn’t enough to induce me. Back to the drawing board, beast.

Too Late To Be Elvis Presley

Title courtesy of (OK, stolen from) my brother-in-law the Lucky Old Man. He was referring to his erstwhile musical career–he played in a locally-successful bluegrass band Back When–but it could be applied to our Mid-Century Modern generation more widely. After all, writing was an idea I hit on once I realized I was too math-impaired for a career in science. And now it’s too late for me to be the S.J. Perelman of my generation. And my generation didn’t even know it needed an S.J. Perelman.

“Well, nothing is forgotten or forgiven when it’s your last time around

But I got stuff rollin’ round my head that I just can’t live down…”

–Courtesy Of Bruce Springsteen. It’s too late to be him, too.


Your wish is my command, as always, so I bring you–


My old friend Flashing Medusa is back. Press a button, and she says, “If you look at me, I’ll turn you to stone!” That’s to educate all those unfamiliar with what Medusa does. This is necessary because the School Corporation now forbids teachers from teaching Greek myths in their entirety.

–A sign that says, simply, “Beware.” I should keep that on my door all year long.

It occurs to me, as it always does this time of year, that I own enough stuff–AS PART OF MY REGULAR LOOK–to make special Halloween purchases redundant. I already own black eyeshadow, red lipstick and nail polish, and assorted items with skulls on them. Not only did I invent the blog, I invented the Goth look, unfortunately too long ago to profit from it. I specialize in Ideas Whose Time Has Not Yet Come. Or Ideas That Someone Else Already Had.

“But you still need a witch’s hat,” Nick reminds me. He means a Sexy Witch, surely, even though that would be humanality–you know, bestiality from the point of view of the beast. Nick, stop shuddering, or I will make your scales fall off.

The new CVS store is growing by leaps and bounds. CVS–Our Motto: Our Red Lettering Is Bigger Than The Red Lettering Of Walgreen’s Across The Street!


I wasn’t going to tell this story on myself, but now that time has passed and the embarrassment has faded, it’s time to tell the story and refresh it.

On 9/11, I intended, as always, to wear my 9/11 t-shirt. I actually have 2 of these–one for the NYPD and one for the NYFD. Which one I wear in a given year depends on whether my work assignment for the day is more police- or fire-oriented. (“But what do you do when 9/11 falls on your day off?” they ask, and steam starts to curl out of my ears.)

Anyway (as the saying goes), I dug my shirt out and put it on. Hmm, I thought, the neckline seems kind of high in front. Of course, I do have another shirt on under it because it’s cool outside, so maybe it’s just not fitting smoothly because of that.

Used the bathroom at Marx BBQ, caught a glimpse of my back (probably in the course of combing my hair, if I had to guess, BUT I DON’T HAVE TO GUESS, ALRIGHT?). That’s funny, I thought, I seem to remember there being a bigger design on the back of this shirt. But I only wear it once a year, so my memory’s probably off.


–When you get to work and your Tolerable Co-Worker (as the saying goes) immediately asks, “Is your shirt on backwards?”

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