Halloweenis

Halloween is notorious for being the day girls are "allowed" to dress like skanks. But did you know it's also a good day for men to dress like creeps?

Sexual predator options:


I was at Party City the other day, picking up a few odds and ends for my NON-SKANKY costume (you will see, oh yes, you will see) and was scared out of my mind.

It was bad enough the store was playing "Thriller" over the loudspeaker - for some reason, that song totally freaks me out. And, to be honest, those motion-activated figures scare the crap out of me. There was this weird head bent over a candy bowl, and when I walked by it snapped to attention and taunted me in a cackling voice. I jumped at least three feet in the air, fo real. I could've slam-dunked if I had a basketball in my hand. And a goal in front of me. Ok, that was a bad analogy.

Then I turned the corner next to the wig aisle (appropriate) and came face-to-face with a life-sized mannequin dressed as Michael Jackson.

Later I had to backtrack to get a wig cap and a little kid cut in front of me. When she passed the mannequin, she started trembling and making those terrified-kid noises. I wanted to lean down and pat her on the back and reassure her that everything is ok, he's dead now, and besides, he only liked little boys. But then how creepy would I be?!

I don't think it's disrespectful to dress as a dead celebrity, especially Jacko, but...WHY? I remember everyone dressing as the Crocodile Hunter stabbed by a sting ray after Steve Irwin died - at least that's kind of witty. But Michael Jackson? That's a really fucking creepy costume! You want to dress up as a child molester on a kids' holiday?

Maybe I'm blowing it out of proportion. Maybe it's for Michael Jackson fans, not 40 year old creepsters. If that's the case, who am I to judge? I dressed as Joe Perry one year in high school...

Here are some other amazing costume ideas.

And, in case you missed it, go watch Community's Halloween episode.
"That's one of my biggest fears... If I ever like, woke up as a donut..."
"You would eat yourself?"
"I wouldn't even question it."
"Mm, that'd be tasty."

the Lemon Song

Yesterday was dreary and rainy, and I really didn't want to get out of bed. But I did. I ran my errands like a good girl, and I came home and did homework. And, though I was desperate for a nap, I went to school.

Where I fielded every fastball my professor threw my way, and lobbed it right back at him. It was gold, I tell ya! ORE!

Then I went for a nice leisurely drive. Except NOT. I don't know if GoogleMaps still enjoys screwing with me, or if I'm really that directionally challenged. It took me over an hour to travel about twenty miles, thanks to being directed to a two lane road that bisects another two lane road and then goes in circles. I finally found my way by my own smarts (or not so smarts) and picked up Geof!

Background: I think Geof was probably my first follower. Or at least the first "stranger" to actually read, comment, and appreciate whatever the hell this blog is.

I had my first Thai dinner experience, and it was quite delicious, though I should have asked for "two peppers." We talked nonstop the whole night, and there was no weirdness, even though we were telling ridiculous and/or embarrassing stories. It was like having a conversation with my brother (which is a great compliment, trust me). In fact, we lost track of time until we realized we were the only people left in the restaurant, besides the employees.

(But, honestly, a lot of the kitchen staff had already left.)

Geof went to the bathroom before we left, and the staff filed into the dining room and stared at me. I had nowhere to look, so I stared at the tabletop and felt an overwhelming sense of abandonment. I wanted to yell, "He'll be right back, I swear! I still have his coat! He didn't flee in fear, I'm a good person! Well... a decent person. Well, I'm a person, dammit! And when he comes back, which he will, we'll leave!"
     The best part is, when Geof came back, he could tell something ridiculous had happened, but I couldn't vocalize it. So, Geof - this was it!

I kept thinking, "Yay, I have an awesome 'new' friend in the area!" and then remembering he's only here every couple of months on business. But hey, I'll take it! We already have plans to ice skate on the outdoor rink in December! But til then, I've picked up a part-time job: Seasonal Ice Rink seeks experienced zamboni driver. Not to mention he's going to bring me some Tastykakes, because they're Philly's Treasure™.

Bonus points to Geof for:
- not laughing at me for getting lost and being 30 minutes late
- not mocking me for walking right past my car (while talking about how I can never
   remember where I park!)
- encouraging a project I had in my mind
- enjoying my company (so he said... not sure I buy it)
- letting me have bites of his meal
- treating me to crispy bananas
- taking a nice walk under the awnings


If you don't already read his blog, CHECK OUT GEOF'S MAN-CAVE! He's funny, reviews bad movies, and has an ankle fetish - what's not to like?

Totally Unrelated (I swear!) General Question: If you met a blogger and they creeped you out, or you didn't like them in person, would you continue to read their blog?

It's business time

I spent the evening in bed, reclining on my husband, reading a fantastically amazing short story by John Updike, and writing an insane amount while switching channels between "The Shining" and a special on Charles Manson. A quaint Sunday evening.

I feel lucky that I had a chance to hear Updike speak at the University of Memphis in 2007. I love hearing authors speak, especially when they read their own work. Updike had an amazing speaking voice, was very down to earth, and very funny. (When everyone applauded as he took the stage, he said, "Thank you, thank you. Wow, I haven't even done anything yet.")

In the preface to the story "Here Come the Maples," Updike is quoting as saying:
       "My belief and the kind of writer I'm attracted to is a writer who gives
       pleasure - the prose writer who does a little more than what is strictly called
       for to deliver the image or the facts. I'm not a very fast reader, so I like to
       open up a book and feel some whiff of poetry or of extra effort or of
       something inventive going on, so that even read backwards, a paragraph of
       prose will yield something to the sense."

I'm trying, Johnny. I swear I am.

Sometimes I write stuff, fairly good stuff, if I may say so, and have no clue what to do with it. It's not a story, it's a flash. I don't want to post it here, but I don't think it's substantial enough for workshop. But... at least I'm writing. A lot. I hope I've broken the spell, because this feels good.

I wish I could capture this feeling and bottle it for when I most need it. I feel prepared. I'm not caught up in my classes, I laugh at the thought. But I feel like I am ready for anything this week will throw my way. I feel like I can finally handle everything. It's nice to be confident.

F__n_h _r__s

Going to the store during the day is infinitely better than going at night. I was amid a sea of housewives pushing baskets overloaded with groceries to feed their family of four for a week. They didn't smile, but I didn't smile at them, either. Why do they feel the need to stop and look at the specials on the end of the aisles, their carts blocking the way like hugely pregnant bellies? I kept track of how many times I had to loudly say "EXCUSE ME." Four.

I did self-checkout, but a woman came to bag my groceries. I felt bad not helping, so I grabbed two packets of soup mix and tossed them in a bag.
"Your eggs are in there!" she scolded me. I looked in the bag. She had put a jar of jam next to my carton of eggs. A JAR OF JAM.
I gasped and said "Thank you for reminding me! Can we double-bag them?"
She double-bagged them.
I didn't help.

The gas pumps here have TVs built in. I get to solve Wheel of Fortune puzzles while I fill up.

I like the Cleveland Show. The theme song is so freakin' catchy.

Last night I had a dream I was home. Memphis-home. It's the first time I've dreamed that. I surprised my brother and he hugged me tightly while crying tears of joy.

In another part, I was making coffee with a french press mug. I didn't read the instructions because I was too eager to use it, but it was still delicious. It became the only thing I would drink, and my doctor was worried so he started giving me recipes for coffee ice cream, coffee soup, and coffee pasta sauce. The funny thing is, I've drastically cut back on the caffeine since I moved. Maybe 3 cups of coffee a week. Explain that, insomnia!

writing woes

Can I toot my own horn? Or, better yet, allow someone else to toot my horn?

From the blog of Lovely Lisa comes this unexpected praise:
     "Memphis rolled out one of the best examples of a seriocomic piece that I've seen lately, where we were chuckling at the father character through the first half of the story, then in one subtle paragraph that did not resort to a punch in the stomach move, had us worrying about the same character for the second half. All while keeping the humor. Well done, Memphis, well...done (slow clap)."

This is especially encouraging because I stewed over that story for a long time, wondering what the hell the point of it was, if it worked, if it was too much dialogue, etc etc. And, while it's not a workshop, I was still discouraged to get no comments from the teacher.

Added on to that is the fact that I haven't been writing lately. It makes me furious. I feel so horrible when I'm not writing. I've had a lot of encouragement recently, so I feel like I'm trying to turn over a new leaf, but it's a struggle.

I've done a lot of research on something that will either be a short story or a personal essay... I hope think I'll be pleased with the results.

I guess it's easy to feel optimistic when I have a case of beer in the fridge and the weekend stretching out in front of me.

PS. I so want a new tattoo. I thought I could wait.

PPS. Cool weather comes early to VA, relatively speaking. (Meaning it was hot in Memphis when my brother got married in December.) Everyone looks cute in hoodies and sweaters.

PPPS. I'm in love.