| Bought Marie a punkin today. It's one of those things where I've been asking for two weeks - "You want to do anything for Halloween? You want to dress up? You want to carve a punkin?" My questions are met with a generalized "Ih". She's too old to get excited about it, too young to want to miss out *completely*. Some of her friends are trickertreatin', some aren't, and she's betwixt and between on what she should do. So I made an executive decision, and bought her a punkin today after I picked her up from school (half-day). She shall carve this afternoon while we're at work, and when we get home we will be met with a freshly-carved ghoulie and a freshly be-smeared kitchen table. I bought several bags of candy (which is a first for me - all my "adult" years I've been the Scourge of the Great Punkin and totally Scrooged out, hiding in the darkened house as the bell dings forlornly and little kids wink up at the peephole hoping against hope that I'll find it in my hardened heart to open up and bestow gifts of sugary goodness upon them...) Ahem. Anyway, she and I shall do the munchkin door patrol and chuck candy at the little buggers until they go away. Heh. Contrary to what you're probably expecting, I shall not regale you with gleeful childhood memories of my own candy-begging experiences. They were normal, and happened yearly until I was 10. By then I'd simultaneously gotten "too old" for it, and my Grandmother was a JW (and we all know how anathema Halloween is, don't we?). The candy lasted until Easter (supplemented by stuff gotten in my stocking at Christmas), by which time I'd get more, which would last until about July (supplemented by stuff I got at Valentine's), by which time I was sick of candy, until October rolled around and we did it all again, folks! Now, when Christmas rolls around... ah, yes, *then* you shall suffer. Having missed so many of them, I get all stupidly excited (at least, if the trend of the past two years holds) and plan menus and make lists and *swear* to get the shopping done by the end of November (if SOMEBODY(ies) would give me a LIST(s)). This year will be the third year I've celebrated it a) with Calvin and the kids, and b) since I was 10. Yet another thing to be grateful to Calvin and the kids for - they brought back Christmas for me! Don't worry, I'm not getting all mushy on you. AcronymCo certainly is colorful today - I've seen a pirate, a haggardly housewife (complete with facial mask), a car mechanic, several witches, several devils, men dressed as women, hippies (and they probably didn't think in the 70's that their normal clothing would make it as trendy 'Ween costumes of the future), and a VERY HAIRY guy dressed up in a VERY LARGE diaper and bib, complete with pacifier. I think he got sent home to put some clothes on. Me, I'm being my Scrooge self. Jeans, t-shirt, hooded zip-up sweatshirt. Yes, I've gotten harassed. Yes, I've been accused of NOT BEING IN THE SPIRIT. However, I'm not being condemned for *looking like a complete ass* either. Besides, I'm eating the candy you're leaving in buckets on your desks, aren't I? That's as 'Weenie as I get at work. I don't even have any scary stories for ya (how boring have *I* been lately?). A couple of months ago, two female "friends" of Michael's TP'ed our house - wrong season, and not scary. We caught 'em in the act and made them clean it all up. Well, first Calvin had to chase them around the neighborhood (barefoot, at midnight - and, I think, in his underwear) and found them hiding behind a corner of a neighbor's house (their car was parked in front of our house, and their *keys* were left dropped on the sidewalk, so they would have had to come back eventually anyway. Girls. Feh. They make inept criminals). He "encouraged" them to come back and "redeem" themselves. So we stood there, barefoot, in our robes, at midnight (again, just for emphasis) as two sullen teenage girls picked toilet paper out of thorny bushes and high tree branches. We have plant life in our yard which enthusiastically encourages the *application* of TP, but not the removal thereof. Took 'em almost an hour to clean up what, I'm sure, took them ten minutes to apply. In absolute silence. We were standing there watching and grinning the whole time. Calvin was kinder than I would have been, he didn't even call their parents. Let's see, what else? Oh, here's a good one, featuring X(m). A few months after we moved into our house (six years ago, and three years into our marriage), X(m) and I were driving in a rural part of Arizona, on an Indian Reservation. A very beat up car pulled up behind us, rapidly. It would ride our tail, then back off. Ride our tail, then back off. We were approaching a stop sign, and were slowing down, when BLAM! The car rear-ended us. Both of us were relatively unhurt (I did end up having to see a chiropractor for neck and back pain), so we got out to do the insurance exchange thing. They got out. And kept getting out. And *kept* getting out. Six very large, very drunk men of Mexican/Indian heritage, stuffed into that little car. Bottles of alcohol were tipped over and running out from under the door. X(m) timidly approached the driver and requested insurance information. They laughed at him. X(m) bridled, and said *something* stupid. They started to surround him. I ran up, wedged myself between a couple of hulky (smelly!) men, and stood in front of X(m). The driver advanced closer, staring X(m) down, so I put both hands on his chest and pushed. That served to draw his beady little black eyes down to *me*, and I said "Back off, dick cheese," (or something equally as eloquent). Meantime, X(m) made a beeline for the car. Leaving just *me* standing in a circle of drunkards. All glaring at me. I turned and pushed back through them, while they muttered and shifted around and looked like the were deciding whether or not to come after me (they were probably trying to translate the "dick cheese" comment). Got to the car (which had been started and put into gear). Discovered the door was *locked*. Asshole X(m) RAN AWAY AND LOCKED HIMSELF IN THE CAR, with me on the outside. He probably would have driven away, too, if I had been a few seconds longer. I banged on the window, and he leaned over and unlocked the door. I barely got my butt in the seat before we were moving, and didn't get a chance to close the car door until we were 100 feet along. Livid lecturing and "how could you's" commenced. Chicken-shit cowardly-assed sunuvabitch (actually, I think that's the exact term I used). There you have it. A modicum of Halloween oriented stuff, intermixed with mildly entertaining stories. Boo. Go eat candy. I will be! ("Two for me, one for you... Three for me, one for you...") |