One problem with this did not become immediately apparent to me at my late-night clue-deficient state of brain: the inside of the ball is at significantly higher pressure than the inside. Cheerfully idiotic, I prepared the glitter to pour, and pulled out the plastic plug ... and spat glitter as the escaping stream of air scattered the fine metallic squares all over my face, my nightgown, the beanbag chair, the rug, and anything else within range.
Undaunted, I found the little hand-pump that had come with the exercise ball. I studied the parts, then unscrewed the plastic tip, and poured it full of the fine green glitter, then screwed the pump back together. I pulled out the exercise ball's plastic plug again, and stuck the hand-pump in, and proceeded to pump in what I fondly hoped to be be-glittered air.
Sadly, I could feel an obstruction in the flow of air, and I saw the shadow of stuck glitter in the white plastic of the pump's nozzle. I pulled the pump free of the ball, put the plug back in, then turned the business end of the pump towards my face and gave the thing a good hefty pump to see if I could dislodge the glitter.
This time, the stream of green and sparkly air hit me square in the forehead, instead of square in the mouth.
...After a few more rounds with the exercise ball and the green glitter, I elected to unpack that box of dishes that was sitting on one of my pantry shelves. This went much more smoothly and at least somewhat according to plan. I found that I had a lot more bowls than I counted on, as well as more shotglasses than someone like me can make use of under any normal circumstances.
Perhaps fortunately, I've been plotting about what I'm going to pack for the upcoming cons, with a mind towards clothing of equal utility and beauty, and I've decided that I'm probably going to bring some of the Blood Cordial, mode of transit permitting.