Happy Halloween!

Julie has some Halloween stories up over at her blog.

Here is my true ghost story:

I grew up in a haunted house in upstate New York. My family moved into the house in 1963 when I was 10 months old. They bought the house from the original owners, who had built the house a few years before, so the house wasn’t very old. It was a two story house built on a sloping lot, so the finished basement was partially below ground. There was a storage room off the basement that was maybe 10’ x 15’; there was something very, very wrong about that room. When you walked in there, the hair would stand up on the back of your neck. None of us ever actually saw a “ghost”, but there was a bad bad vibe in that basement.

There was a bedroom next to the storage room that was traditionally the room of the oldest sibling in the house at the time. (In a family of six kids, having your own room was a huge privilege!) Staying in that bedroom could be a scary experience. Sometimes I would be in that bedroom and just have the strongest feeling that I had to get out right that second; the worst part was; you had to pass the door of the storage room to get from the bedroom into the main part of the basement and up the stairs to the main living area. We always kept the door to the storage room closed, but it would often be open when someone would walk by.

Lots of times I would leave my stereo on a particular radio station before I went to bed; when I got up in the morning, the radio would be on a totally different station at the other end of the dial. The living room was upstairs, and many, many nights we would be sitting up there watching TV while we listened to the furniture re-arranging itself downstairs. The floor downstairs was linoleum and the furniture was wooden “camp-style”, so it would make a very distinctive sound scraping across that floor. But when we would go down to check, the furniture would always be where it was supposed to be. Other times the downstairs stereo would come blasting on in the middle of the night; as soon as you got to the top of the basement stairs, it would stop. If we were in the basement, we could hear people walking around upstairs, even when no one was up there.

After I grew up and moved out, I would house-sit for my parents when they went out of town; I always stayed upstairs and made sure the door to the basement was shut and locked; when I got up in the morning, that door would be standing wide open. That happened a lot and almost gave me a heart attack every time.

It wasn’t just our family who experienced this; in-laws and friends were privy to these experiences as well.

It has been over twenty years since I lived there, and I still have nightmares about it. Especially the door to the storage room.

I Wish She Hadn't Used The Nail Gun

I am feeling all virtuous inside, because I got my flu shot a couple of hours ago. I get a flu shot every year, because even though I am not in any of the high-risk groups, the last time I came down with the flu I thought I was going to die. Seriously. I missed an entire week of work, and most of that week I do not even remember, and the part that I do remember was not pleasant. Being seriously ill (as in, I-can't-walk-to-the-bathroom-so-I-guess-I'll-have-to-crawl) is kind of scary when you live alone. What if I die, and by the time someone finds me, the cat has eaten my fingers off? Gruesome, huh? So I get a flu shot every year. Unless, of course, it is a year with a flu shot shortage, and then I give up my turn. Because I'm generous like that. Snort.

Anyway, right now my arm is hurting like hell from the shot. And I have a theory: That the person administering the shot is able to control how much it is going to hurt. So, if the nurse is having a bad day, or just doesn't like your looks, you're in for it. Maybe this nurse did not like my fake fur coat.

Nurse? I SWEAR that coat is fake fur! NOT REAL FUR! I mean, just look at it! No animal in nature has fur patterned like that! I DO NOT WEAR FUR! Owwwwww.....

Similarly, because I am on Depo, I have to get a Depo shot every three months. And usually, there's just a little residual soreness. But one time? I ended up with a bruise the size of a softball. I'm not kidding.

So, what do you think? Do the nurses do it on purpose? By the way, if they do, I think it's kind of awesome.

All I Want for Halloween .....

.... is a bag of plagues! Who knew these things even existed? Well, okay, maybe Jewish people, but I'm not Jewish, so I was clueless as to the awesomeness that is a plagues bag! I want one ....

Dog the Bounty Hunter Captures the Krazy Klown Killer!

Last week, I read in the paper that a bar right down the street from where I live (Exador, you might remember this place) was having a Halloween party on Saturday. And the entertainment was to be a guy I went out with a few times more than 20 years ago and had not seen since.

Pluses:

1. Party!

2. Right down the street from me! (Huge plus, as I could walk home if I got too, um, tipsy to drive.)

3. Chance to see how a guy I dated looks 20 years later! Back when I went out with this guy, he was very good looking (think Peter Frampton back in the day (hey! Peter Frampton was good looking! To me, anyway)). And he was a musician! I was always a sucker for musicians.

Minuses:

1. There was no way I was going to walk into a bar full of strangers all by myself.

So, I kind of hemmed and hawed and finally, on Saturday afternoon, I asked one of my downstairs neighbors if he would like to go to the party with me. Folks, this was huge. I DO NOT make a habit of asking neighbors out on dates! But I really, really wanted to go to this party. And my neighbor said yes, he'd like to go to the party. Yay me!

So! It is now 5:00 on Saturday, the party starts at eight, and I have to come up with a costume. Yeah. I had a pair of dollar-store devil horns from a past Halloween, and I had just bought a short pleated black skirt, so I paired the horns and the skirt with a red top and, voila! The devil's cheerleader! I know, kind of lame, right. And at about seven, I realized that I had no pom-poms. What the heck is a cheerleader without pom-poms? I decided to dive into my box of crafty-stuff to see if I could somehow come up with something to make pom-poms with. In order to get to the box of crafty-stuff, I had to move my industrial-size roll of caution tape. You know, the stuff they use to mark off crime scenes?

Ta-da! Caution tape pom-poms!

So! We went to the party, and had a really good time. My neighbor/date went as Kurt Cobain - layered flannel shirts, scruffy jeans, and - instant grunge! And the guy I used to date now looks totally different - I never would have recognized him in a million years. And we did a little catching up between sets, so that was cool. And! Because I am a billion years old, by 11:30 I was tired and tipsy and ready to go home.

Oh, and Dog the Bounty Hunter won first prize in the costume contest! He deserved it.

Losing Our Words

I was talking to my Mom this weekend, and she said something about ".... those big orange things that are all over the place this time of year."

She's lost the word "pumpkin". It is very, very scary to watch your mother moving in reverse. I know how this is all going to turn out, and I only hope that I can handle it well.

Here's the thing about Alzheimer's: Once the person who has it reaches a certain stage, they no longer have the mental capacity to understand what is happening to them. And in my Mom's case, at least, she isn't worried about what is happening to her, because she doesn't understand that she used to be different. For example, she knows that she used to drive a car and that she doesn't anymore, but she doesn't understand that it is because she is literally losing her mind and is no longer capable of driving (by a long shot). It's just something she used to do that she doesn't do anymore. But (she thinks) she could if she wanted to.

I don't know where I'm going with this. Maybe I just wish she would rail against the dying of the light instead of not even understanding that the light is dying.... I guess it's me who has the problem with Alzheimer's, not her.

But my God, this whole situation sucks.

Trigger! And other unrelated stuff

I've been thinking about Trigger since I did the Meme the other day. So here is a picture of him:




Unfortunately, I did not grow up on a farm (sob), so we boarded Trigger with a family who gave riding lessons a little way out of town. Gosh, that pic brings back memories. One year, a bunch of us who boarded our horses there went out into the nearby woods, cut down Christmas trees, and brought them back on horseback. Good times! When I got my (admittedly scraggly, small, and nearly branch-less) tree back home, Dad put the kibosh on actually using it for our family Christmas tree, and I threw a screaming, sobbing, throw-myself-down-on-the-floor tantrum. At the age of 12. Ah, memories. But Trigger was a beautiful horse, no?

Speaking of Christmas (shudder), I was watching the news last night, and the graphic for Sunday's weather showed the evil snowflake symbols. Noooooooooo! Here is what I have to look forward to:



Why, yes, that is a picture of me! With snow! I remember building snow forts and snow tunnels as a kid. A few years back, I read a news item about some kids who built a snow tunnel which collapsed, and one of the kids died. So I guess parents probably don't let their kids build snow tunnels anymore. We'll put down snow tunnel building as yet another of those Insanely Dangerous Things I Did As A Kid Which Parents Do Not Let Their Children Do Anymore. Of course, most of the time, my Mom had no idea of what I was up to, lest you think I was raised by wolves. Then again, I don't know if kids are even allowed off by themselves to get into mischief anymore. I used to hop on my bike on summer mornings and not show up back home until lunchtime. No "playdates" for me. Just totally unstructured wandering around the neighborhood and nearby woods. Oh, and I also rode my bike to school. (Ten miles! Each way! In the snow! Ha ha.)

So! Snow! Which means it's time to turn OFF the traction control on the Saturn. In the manual, it says do not EVER turn off the traction control unless you are trying to tow the car out of a ditch. Unfortunately, if I leave the traction control ON, every time I am driving on snowy roads and need to (oh-so-gently!) apply the brakes, the car goes insane, and alternately (a) lurches and bucks across the entire breadth of the roadway, totally out of control, with the brakes going THUNK-THUNK-THUNK the entire time, or (b) goes into a several-blocks-long sideways slide. Traction control? Um, no thanks. So from now until spring, every time I get in the car, I turn off the traction control. I'd rather live to drive another day, thankyouverymuch.
Don't ever buy a Saturn.

Coming soon: Boredom, thy name is craft show.

Tell Me Why

Fuck you, George Bush.

Remember back on May 1, 2003, when you declared "Mission Accomplished"?

It wasn't accomplished then, and now, over four years later, it still isn't accomplished. I don't even know if you know what you are trying to accomplish anymore.

The blood's on your hands, George. Your hands and the hands of all of your minions.

Fuck you.

When I Get Bored .......

...... weird stuff happens. And seeing as how the fall TV season pretty much blows, and I can't get interested in any of the books I am trying to read, and the craft show/photography thing pretty much tanked (more on that later), and I have the attention span of a gnat, I am fighting ennui much of the time. BUT! I am very good at distracting myself. In strange ways.

Here is Cowboy Tango:






This is Rapture (be pure):




And Gator Duck:

I'm like a third grader they let loose in art class.

I've Been Memed!

Jennifer over at Where's Mommy's Prozac? has chosen me to participate in a Meme! I am so excited - my very first Meme! If I screw up, please forgive me, as I've never done this before, and please let me know in the comments.

This is the ABC's Meme. Here are the instructions: Each player starts with some random facts/habits about himself/herself. As you are tagged you need to post the rules and your responses on your own blog. At the end of your post, you need to choose some people to tag, list their names and, of course, leave them a comment, telling they have been tagged and they need to read your blog for more information.

A - Apples. I cannot eat raw apples. Or pears. Or bananas. They make my stomach hurt.

B - Birthday. I have one coming up next month. I will be 45. My OCD deems both 4 and 5 to be good numbers, so hopefully it will be a good year.

C - Cat, of course. By the way, Rocky weighed eleven pounds at last night's weigh-in. I almost didn't go through with the weigh-in, because I was so worried that he might have lost more weight. Instead, he gained 1.2 pounds. Go, Rocky! And thanks for everyone's suggestions about how to fatten up a cat.

D - Dogs. I do not like them. As a general rule, I do not like anything that eats its own poop and rolls in dead fish. (And yes, I KNOW that cats lick their own butts. We're not even going there.)

E - Easy-going. Which I used to be. Unfortunately, I have gotten more rigid and uptight as I get older, which I am trying to correct.

F - F-word. I use it here, but almost never in real life, unless I am talking to myself.

G - Gross-out movies. I do not like them. At all. Yuck.

H - Horse. I had one when I was a kid. His name was Trigger. He was a palomino. He once kicked the farrier (horse-shoer) in the head and gave him a concussion.

I - Independent. Fiercely so.

J - Juice. I cannot drink fruit juice of any kind. Again with the whole fruit thing. I tried some apple juice over the weekend and it grossed me out. Plus, apple juice looks disconcertingly like pee, which does not help matters any.

K - K-Mart. When I was a preteen, I was with two so-called friends when they shoplifted from
K-Mart. And got caught. And I got dragged into the security office with them. I have never been so terrified before or since. I thought I was going to wet my pants.

L - Love. I've been in it before. Maybe someday I'll be in it again.

M - Marching band. I was in the marching band in high school. Way in.

N - Noise. I do not like loud noise of any kind, especially loud bass. It makes my ears hurt.

O - Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I have it.

P - Panic. I sometimes panic over stupid stuff and literally forget to breathe. I'll be all, like, "Why do I feel so funny?" And then I'm like, "Oh yeah! Try breathing!" Idiot.

Q - Captain Quake? I don't know - I'm drawing a blank here.

R - What else but Rocky?

S - Swimming. I love to swim in the lake, but only on really hot days. And I try really, really hard not to think about the giant lake monster that may swim up in the murky water and kill me. Because I am six.

T - Teeth. After refraining from dental care for twenty years, I spent a shit-ton to get my teeth in shape and am now sticking with the plan.

U - Underwear. Oh my God, I can't believe I'm going to tell you this. I wear men's briefs. Because they are made of better material and don't ride up my butt the way women's undies do. Please forget you just read that.

V - I had a very dear friend whose name starts with V. And then she went totally off the rails and became a barfly and a cokehead and I can't even call her anymore, because every time I do, she is drunk off her ass. So sad.

W - My "real name" starts with W. Oh, and watercolors! I took a watercolor painting class, and I paint all the time for fun, and the totality of my suckiness at painting amazes me. I've been painting for a couple of years now, and the fact that I still suck at it so bad is truly stunning. Almost unbelievable, actually.

X - X-ray. Several years ago, someone broke my arm for me. I remember looking at the x-ray in the emergency room and being totally amazed that a bone that big could actually snap in half.

Y - Sorry, drawing a blank here.

Z - Mr. Z is a kids' ride-on bouncy horse that I painted to look like a zebra and put in my garden. Mr. Z is very cool.

Phew, made it! That was fun! Hopefully I did not forget any letters. That would be embarrassing.

Now, would anyone like to join in? How about Pauline? Or Kerri? Oh-uh, I'm having trouble linking to Kerri in this post. To check her out, you can link up in the sidebar at left. How about Listie? Let me know! And Jennifer, thanks again. You rock.

When Dora the Explorer Goes Medieval On Your Ass

Check it out! You say you've been trying to get your kid interested in hunting, but she'd rather not? Just buy her a pink shotgun! With a free matching pink hat! What little girl could resist pink, after all? And then tell her that if she's good enough with the pretty pink shotgun, you'll buy her the Dora the Explorer Bazooka! Good times.

Peak!

Unbelievably Tasteless Joke

You've been warned.

Last chance.

Here we go:

So, a pedophile and a little kid are walking into the woods at night. And the little kid says, "Mister, I don't like it here! It's dark! I'm scared!" And the pedophile says, "You're scared? I've gotta walk outta here alone!"

Dear Grocery Store ....

Please stop selling stuff whose "use by" date expired seven months ago.

Thank you.

Faymoose!

Jennifer has given me a "You Make Me Smile" blog award! Whooohoooo!! Thank you, Jennifer!
My very first blog award! Your blog, Where's Mommy's Prozac?, is one of my very favorites.

Rolling Stone Style

Rolling Stone, the favored magazine of infidels everywhere, now has a "Style" section.

Some blurbs:

"Add a hint of spring to your fall with this delicate skirt".

"This organic-cotton sweater is a sweet alternative to a blazer".

"Bend the rules and wear these sleek cream heels year-round".

WTF, Rolling Stone? I'll tell you what: I won't tell you how to play guitar, if you don't tell me how to dress. Mkay?

Rebel

9.8

Rocky is losing weight. Again.

I only weigh him once a week, so as not to make myself insane with worry. So on Monday, our last weigh-in day, my heart sank when I saw he had lost 2/10ths of pound. Which may not sound like a lot, but keep in mind he only weighs 10 pounds total. Now, the vet said not to panic if he lost a little, that what we are looking for is a weight gain trend over time, blah blah blah. All I know is that you are not supposed to be able to feel your cat's spine and hip bones when you pet him. Again, the vet said that this is normal with aging, that cats lose muscle as they grow older, blah blah blah. Whatevs. It's just not right. And the weird thing? When I feed him, he goes right for the bowl, and eats and eats and eats and eats. But when I check the bowl after, not that much food is gone. It's like when a little kid pushes the food around on his plate to make it look like more is missing. Oh, and I'm the food fluffer. Because both his (canine? incisor?) big teeth on top are now gone, once the food gets pushed down into the bowl he is unable to scarf it up. So I fluff it for him. I can't believe I just wrote that sentence. And in the meantime, I have decided to stop freaking the fuck out over the whole situation. It's not doing either of us any good.

Did you know they make prescription cat food? I wonder if it's considered a controlled substance.

Oh, and vitamin gravy? Just for cats?

Do you believe that I am actually buying this stuff? Oh, and Fancy Feast! Those twee little cans of cat food that I have always despised? I now have a cupboard full, folks. I have turned into one of those middle-aged single women in the grocery store with a cart half full of *shiver* Fancy Feast.

In my defense, the rest of the cart is usually full of beer.

As you can see in the picture above, his front end looks pretty good, but that back half needs some help. So, if anybody has any ideas of how to fatten up a cat, or has any suggestions for foods that their cats really love, I'm all ears. Amazing discovery: Rocky loves Sweet Chili Lime tortilla chips. Loves them. Crunches them up and scarfs them down. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that tortilla chips do not meet all of his nutritional requirements. On the other hand, if he will eat them, who cares?

Mmmmm ...... doughnuts: The Saga Continues

There's a big meeting in the office this morning, so yesterday the Boss asked me to stop on my way in this morning and pick up a dozen doughnuts. Or, more accurately, the Boss asked me to pick up doughnuts, then added, "if you don't mind".

Mind?! Would I "mind" picking up doughnuts?? If you read this blog regularly, you know that I am currently obsessed with doughnuts, so picking up doughnuts on my way in is noooo problem. Then the Boss said, "Oh, that's ok, I'll stop and pick up the doughnuts". OK, Boss, that's fine. Then, a little while later, he said "So, are you going to pick up the doughnuts or am I?" And it went on in this vein basically all day long. Looks like I'm not the only one with a doughnut obsession.

As I was leaving work last night, I asked the Boss if I should pick up the doughnuts. And he said, "Yes, but don't get any of those frosted ones. Just get some regular doughnuts - you know, the glazed ones. Oh, and a couple of the apple spice ones. And maybe a blueberry and a couple of those jelly filled ........." Doughnut micromanagement at its finest. Yep, I'm not the only one with a doughnut problem.

SO, I picked up the doughnuts this morning, and of COURSE I got some of the frosted ones, because THEY'RE THE BEST KIND. The more crap spread on top of a doughnut and injected inside it, the better. Doughnut nirvana, coming right up!

Here is a little confession: I hoard office doughnuts. That's right, after the meeting is over, as I am putting the doughnuts into zip-locks to keep them fresh for later office consumption, I will sneak a couple into a separate baggie and hide them in my desk. They're MINE, I tell you! ALL MINE! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, I'm bad, all right.

Oh! And just when I thought the soft-serve ice cream season was wrapping up for the year, I made the startling discovery that Wendy's now serves vanilla Frostys! Which are basically soft-serve vanilla ice cream!! Folks, when did this happen?

I'm afraid all is now lost on the totally-useless-calorie front.

Somebody Actually Went Ahead And Did It (Part II) . . . .

...... named their kid "Richard Wadsworth", that is. I know, because "Richard Wadsworth" was in the newspaper obituaries this morning.

What's wrong with that name, you ask? Well, "Richard" would probably be nicknamed "Dick", meaning this guy went through his life as "Dick Wadsworth". Maybe I need to get my mind out of the gutter, but that's a classic porn name if I ever heard one.

I can only hope that this is what is on his tombstone: "It's RICHARD, damnit!"

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Yesterday, even though it was cold and gloomy and rainy (fifteen minutes into my walk, I turned around, went back to the car, and got a hat and gloves), I went up to State Park. I get antsy if I go too long without getting out in the woods. The leaves are finally starting to change, but they've still got a way to go:

Last year, I went to another local park on October 6, and the leaves looked like this:

WTF, leaves? Let's get a move on, here, before it starts to snow!

Speaking of snow, there were moments yesterday when it did not seem that far off:

But then the sky would lighten, and it was fall again:

I'd enjoy fall a heckuva lot more if it wasn't followed by winter.