He Did the Mash-He Did the Monster Mash

Just a few random Halloween memories....

Remember the cheesy costumes? The paper masks that fit around your head with an elastic band which would inevitably break before the night was through. And breathing through the nose holes was gross and a challenge. And don't forget the plastic one piece suits that were surely made with fire accelerant material. I was a Princess one year and Wonder Woman the next. Those are the only mask costumes I recall.

I remember my Dad inspecting my candy to avoid those razor blades in the popcorn balls. No pixie sticks allowed. Someone could open them and pour poison in them to unsuspecting trick or treaters.

I remember sorting my Halloween candy in order of preference. Chocolates were always a commodity, Reeses, Milky Ways, Snickers, Hershey bars. I hated Dum Dums and the peanut butter chews that came wrapped in orange & black paper. Candy corn I could take or leave.

I remember the year that my two friends and me dressed up as a Conehead family. We sent away for the rubber coneheads that fit over your real head and you had to stuff them full of cotton batting to get them to stand up straight. Being the abnormally tall kid, I played Daddy Conehead. The funny part of this costume was trick or treating and being bombarded by eggs from the back of a passing pick up truck. My friend, who played Mommy Conehead, was beamed right in the side of the conehead by one of those eggs. I don't think it was funny then, but it's funny now. No, wait it was funny then.

Or the year that the same friend who was egged in the conehead, dressed up as the Two-Header Monster. Her Dad came up with the brillant idea. I (again being abnormally tall) stood directly behind my friend and rested by chin on her shoulder. Then we put on the same pair of pants and shirt. It looked pretty cool, but the problem began when we attempted locomotion. We had to time our steps just right to avoid losing balance and falling over. Needless to say it didn't work out too well. By about the third house we had a little spill. I think we were walking a little too fast from one of the houses that spooked us and didn't coordinate our movements. I laughed so hard, I peed OUR pants. We ended up changing into alternate costumes after that.

I remember the year my Dad took my brother, sister, and me to the convenience store and we each got to pick out $10 worth of candy in lieu of trick or treating. He didn't have to inspect our candy that year.

Haunted Houses were the bomb!

Scary movies. "Halloween" being my all time favorite scary movie (The Shining is very close). I couldn't sleep for weeks after seeing "Halloween". I kept thinking my brother was going to murder me in my sleep like Michael Myers. I don't mind watching them all, mainly for camp value now. Halloween 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6. Are there more? I lost track. I also dig the Friday the 13th series. And Freddy Kreuger. Amityville Horror is another one that spooked me. The Omen. That tinkling piano theme from Halloween and the spooky opera moans from The Omen are the scariest pieces of music every composed. What are your favorite scary movies?

Happy Halloween, have a frightfully scary day!

Things to do on All Hallow's Eve

I came across this advertisment. Just in case you were looking for something fun to do for Halloween:

Lazy O Farm Millet Maze - A 1.5-acre millet maze filled with activities & displays, including Millie the milk cow, a cow-milking simulation & feather writing. Plus: barnyard animals, picnic areas & pumpkin patch. Visits are by appt only & for groups of 10 or more, except Fri, Oct 28, 5-9 pm. 3583 Packing Plant Rd, Smithfield. Through Oct. 31. $25 nonrefundable deposit for appt, 934-1132.

Ok, I have to briefly comment. First, I didn't know what a millet is, but evidently it is a small seeded species of cereal crop. But the part that really gets me is Millie the milk cow and the cow milking simulation. What spells F-U-N-fun more than flabby cow udders spewing milk? And if that's not enough fun filled autumn adventure for your liking, there's also.... feather writing. WOW!

I now know what I'm doing for Halloween.....

sitting at home waiting for trick or treaters and eating a whole bag of milk duds

That spells fun to me.

Enlightenment in the Parking Lot at a College Football Game

I think by now that I have mastered the art of football/concert tailgating. This distinction has come after many years of experience and plenty of trial and error. Like for instance, it's always a good idea to bring your own seats. This has become more important as the years have passed and my young adult legs have given way to adult legs which don't like to hold my weight up as much, or it could be the extra weight my legs now have to hold up due to a post-30 year old woman's slowing metabolism. And now that they make those camping chairs that fold up nicely, store so easily in your trunk, and come with their own carrying case that you can just strap on your shoulder. What an ingenious invention!

The camping table is another nice thing to have when tailgating, too. Which brings me to the next necessity. Always bring plenty of food and drink. We have eaten such yummy things like subs (or heros, hoagies, or grinders depending on the geographical region you will be tailgating), fried chicken, and BBQ. Bring plenty of Doritos and pretzels and potato chips,etc. etc., etc....

And finally always bring plenty of beer. Along with that always bring a bottle opener. Sure, you can drink beer out of a can, but I consider this a sacrilige so having a bottle opener available is always an issue for me. Or unless, you're really talented and can open a beer bottle with a cigarette lighter or better yet, with your teeth this might not be too big of an issue either. I can't tell you how many times I have had to pay $4 for 59 center bottle opener at a convenience store. So now I always keep on in my purse, one in my car, and one on my keychain. I got it covered.

The actual logistics of partaking in the consumption of alcoholic beverages and spirits while tailgating in a parking lot can be problematic. Especially, if there are ALE agents prowling around who are on the lookout for underage drinkers and the illegal sale of alcoholic beverages. So this particular possibility has prompted me to remember the all important invention that is essential to successful tailgating involving the consumption of alcoholic beverages. Evidently, this important piece of equipment is not familiar to your average college student attending a southeastern university that is noted for their outstanding academic excellence.

I attended the Florida State/Duke football game this weekend. While heading into the stadium from the parking lot before the game started, my party of football game attendees were stopped by a group of young college boys who had obviously been consuming alcoholic beverages and who were especially impressed with the aforementioned tailgating equipment that we were carrying. It had never occurred to them to utilize this to make their tailgating experience more incognito.

What invention am I referring to, now that you are on the edge of your seat? What could this new craze be that is sure to turn alcoholic beverage consumption at tailgate parties into a much more feasible activity? Well professor, this invention that I'm referring to is the........

PLASTIC CUP!

The leader of this group of drunk college boys stopped us to compliment us on our choice of transportation for our alcoholic beverages-plastic cups.

Then he turned to his circle of friends and exclaimed: "Why didn't we think of using cups??!!??"

Instead these future leaders of our banks, businesses, and the medical profession were naively drinking their PBR straight out of the can. It had never occurred to them to put their beer in a cup and carry it around that way.

I'd like to think that with age comes wisdom. At least that is what has been promised me...so by God always remember the plastic cups.

Lost in Translation (or Eat Shit!)

When I was about 10 my paternal grandmother came to live with us for a short time. My Grandma was a second generation Czech living outside of Pittsburgh where my Dad grew up. All my Pittsburgh relatives have similar characteristics, they're working class people who come off kind of gruff and serious, but deep down are vulnerable and good hearted. We love polkas and keilbassa (and not the Hilshire Farm kind). When Grandma sold the house that her father built after emigrating to this country and before he was killed in a steel factory accident (true story), it was decided that she would move into one of those old folks apartment buildings. You know the kind, a high rise apartment with assisted living services and bingo and shuffleboard & all the drugs that old people like to enjoy. But, before Grandma could get into her old folks apartment, she had to come stay with us until her apartment "became available" (i.e. someone kicked the bucket, I suppose).

I remember Grandma's scratchy brown recliner with that brown calico quilt draped over it. She would fall asleep watching Johnny Carson, or Joan Rivers as she frequently guested in those days and snore. I remember her huge green station wagon and the secret compartment in the back floor. I remember her ace bandages and the smell of Ben-Gay. My Grandma made me my first communion dress by hand and bought me the powder blue sneakers and yellow satin jacket that my parents couldn't afford at the time. And my Grandma was a good cook and my apple pie making skills are due to her careful & patient training-always use Granny Smiths and never overhandle your dough.

When my sister & brother & me would be bored or hungry or just wanting to be a pain in the ass our favorite question to Grandma was: "What's to eat?"

My Grandma's reply was always the same: "Guvna!" ( said with gruff Eastern European tone)

We always asked her: "What does that mean?"

To which she would always reply: "Nothing! It means nothing."

It was our routine kind of like the "What's on First?" schtick, and not to mention a language lesson

So, I always thought that I at least knew one foreign word in Czech. "Guvna" means nothing.

It was years later that I actually found out the true meaning of "Guvna" was actually "Shit!"

Needless to say, I felt a little betrayed.

On a completely different topic, my dad would sometimes make S.O.S. for dinner. He was a navy man and evidently this was a popular dish for the seaman. It consisted of this disgustingly creamy cream sauce with chipped beef that came in this little plastic packets that you find in the refrigerated grocery aisle next to the bologna and other pre-packaged lunchmeat served over toast. Trust me, it is truly S.O.S.-Shit on a Shingle (or the alternative, Save our Stomachs). It didn't arrive at its name by accident.

When it was our birthday, my Mom used to let us pick out any meal we wanted to eat and she would lovingly cook it for us. I would always pick Spaghetti. Yeah, my Mom used Ragu out of a jar and added ground beef. But for some reason it was the best damn spaghetti I ever ate. And I wouldn't eat it like served at an Olive Garden with a load of noodles and a tiny dollop of sauce. No way! My sauce to noodle ratio needs increasing. I would dump spoonfuls of sauce on the little mound of noodles so I could eat it with a spoon (or slop it up with slices of garlic bread).

However, my brother for some reason always picked S.O.S. for his birthday meal. I could never understand why.

Maybe it was the same reason that lead him to vote for George Bush:

-Bad Taste! (Sorry Greggy, I couldn't resist)

Stop in the Name of Love

Okay, who knows the procedural rules of appopriately manuevering through the four way stop sign? Anyone? Evidently not many drivers know this from my observations. You'd think that our species would have evolved enough to know the proper procedure for proceeding (how's that for alliteration?) through the dreaded four way stop sign.

This is my understanding:

Rule 1: The first vehicle who arrives at the four way stop sign has the right of way.

Rule 2: If there is a tie, the driver to the right has the right of way. [Correct me if I'm wrong on this]

Rule 3: If all else fails the person going straight has the right of way.

Or the more popular Rule 4: Abandon all rules and it's the most agressive driver that gets the right of way.

I have to go through 2 different four way stop signs on my drive to work. One of them is pretty managable. However, one of them stupefies me. I have been burned on more than one occassion on the four way stop. Adhering to Rule #1, I should have the right of way, but the "brah" (translation:brother in wookie, parking lot kid speak)in the Jeep Cherokee thinks he can flash me a peace sign and turn left right in front of my going straight. First, I got to the intersection before you, and besides I'm going straight and should have the right of way. But oh, flashing me the peace sign just makes everything alright with the world. My bad. Or there's the old man in the pick up truck who just sits there waving on the other cars even though he clearly got to the intersection first. I know you're in no real hurry gramps but I got places to be- and besides you're messing up the order of my universe.

At least it's not a roundabout, that would really confuse us.

Ice Etiquette and Defensive Driving

Are ice etiquette & defensive driving mutually exclusive concepts? Not necessarily, where I work

Who would think that your office actually needs a posted description of "Ice Etiquette"???

Evidently mine does. Okay, we have a staff kitchen that has 2 microwaves, a stove, a table, vending machines (which by the way never have enough chocolate in them but plenty of Nekots and Pork Skins), a filtration cooler to purify our tap water, and a full-size refrigerator. Unfortunately this fridge didn't come equipped with an icemaker. By the way, I have found after moving into my new house and buying my own fridge what a lovely invention the automatic icemaker is. Anyway, my work fridge has about 20 blue plastic ice trays and two bins to fill up with ice. Now, it really isn't in anyone's job description to make ice. It used to be our receptionist would make a big batch in the morning,but that seems to have dropped off. Now we're on our own and are forced to make our own ice.

The problem is that people don't quite get the "make your own" philosophy and have resorted to one of two cruel tactics:

1. Taking only a few cubes from the tray and putting the tray back in the freezer minus the cubes they have so slyly taken.

2. Empyting the entire ice tray in one of the bins, taking the cubes they need, and leaving a few cubes in the bin and an empty ice tray in the freezer.

I'm not sure which one is worse. C'mon people this is just plain lazy. And inconsiderate.

We now have an Ice Etiquette sheet posted on the fridge with guidelines like Wash Your Hands Before Handling Ice, and Use a Papertowel to Pick up your Ice Cubes or Shake them Out of Bin to avoid touching the ice, Don't Put Empty Trays Back in the Freezer, and Use Filtrated Water to Fill up Ice Cube Trays.

Has this helped? Not really. There are still empty trays or partially empty trays being put back in the freezer. I work in a non profit agency that focuses on children & family issues so you'd think that the menality of our average employee would be to help each other out and all pitch in. Afterall, we want to be the change we want to see in the world if I'm to believe the slogan posted in our kitchen.

I think we need an official company policy in order to make this stick. This is usually how our agency operates. First, something happens, then a company policy is drafted followed by a training session to reinforce the policy, and a statement signed in your blood attesting that you have read & understand the new policy. We're rather reactive. And usually the one person who instigated the policy in the first place is left feeling responsible.

For example, Children in the Workplace Policy is my doing. Shortly after giving birth, I had asked if I could bring my daughter in for an hour a day since my husband & my work schedule overlapped by that amount of time. He would swing by after getting off from his job to pick up our daughter & I would work my shift. This went on for about 4 months and finally was halted when the Children in the Workplace Policy was rolled out. Now we can still bring our children in a pinch, but not on a consistent, regular basis and if we do we have to sign a waiver of release form in case our child get's injured the company is not responsible.

The Automobile Usage Policy is a result of some poor schmoe who used to work here who ran into our HR Director's BMW when parking his 1980s Chevy Caprice and lo and behold his insurance had lapsed. So now we must present proof of insurance and a valid driver's license every year.

Internet Usage Policy? Some guy who was an amatuer filmmaker who worked here was evidently recruiting female actresses from questionable websites, so now we have to solemnly swear we will not visit any porn site, and can't use other email systems because someone else brought a virus into our network using some other email service.

So what does all of this have to do with Defensive Driving? Well in conjunction with the already popular Automobile Usage Policy, we now must attend this mandatory video training to help us better understand Defensive Driving.

So, what I "modestly"propose is that we institute a company-wide ice etiquette policy that must be signed by each employee punishable by a flogging if one should violate, followed by an ice etiquette training session to drive the point home.

And we don't have to limit it to ice etiquette, we can also cover bathroom etiquette too. Don't get me started on that one. Is it so hard to pick up the paper towel that you just dropped? Or are you that oblivious that you didn't see it not make it into the wastebasket, or worse does the world revolve around you?

Or is it because we pay some guy to clean the bathrooms anyway? Even worse.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Hair.

" Long beautiful hair.
Shining, gleaming,
streaming, flaxen, waxen"

Does hair make the man, or woman? In the 60's boys grew their hair long to piss off the establishment. Women are obsessed with their hair. Girls with straight hair want curly locks. Girls with curls want straight hair. Redneck boys buzz their hair. African-American's relax their hair, cornrow, or just pick the 'fro. Gay fashion "experts" can't get enough of hair critique. Why on every makeover show do they take the girl with the really long hair and cut it short?

Perms, curling irons, crimpers, boufants, page boys, bobs, feathers, mop tops, shampoo, hairspray, bad hair days, cowlicks, dreadlocks, braids, Rogaine. How many more hair references can I think up?

So why hair?

Our hair story begins with once upon a time there was this little girl. A little girl who loved fairy tales and princesses with long locks. But this girl had a mother, not the evil stepmother kind mind you, that thought this little girl wouldn't look good with long hair. Afterall with such a long face, long hair would just make her face look longer. Her sister, however, had long princess hair and all the boys loved it. But the sad little girl with the long face was relegated to the Dorothy Hamill hair. It just became her. It was cute and bouncey! And oh so boyish! So how's a girl to rebel, but to grow her hair, grow her hair long. Did she live happily ever after?

My hair is long and straight and thin. It mats very easily. I could have dreads by the end of the day if I just put my mind to it. But I carefully comb through those damn mats every night just to make my job a little easier in the morning. I use rinse out conditioner. I also use leave in conditioner and a detangler. I love my hair although it can be pain.

I grew my hair long because I could. Because I was just a little deadhead. Because I hate Dorothy Hamill. Because the boys would like it. I trim my hair myself. Why spend loads of dough at the hairdresser when all I need is a little trim. I'm scared of layers. I had a really bad layer hair cut in 12th grade that my controlling, psycho boyfriend at the time hated. He left me at the hairdresser and demanded that I have her fix the fuck up to my hair. My freshman college ID will testify that it was never really fixed. Everyone loves my hair in my high school senior picture. I had spent the entire summer at the beach so it was this highlighty blonde color, even though I'm really a brunette. It was wavy and shorter that it is now. I do admit I had a good hair day that day, but all of that was ruined with the aforementioned bad layer cut.

Sometimes I have nightmares that my hair is cut off and I'm mortified, even though for the last 2 years I've been telling my friends & co-workers that I was going to do something drastic and cut my hair. But it never happens and they've stopped believing me. I should be that girl on the makeover show so I could have all my locks cut off for some smart, pixie cut. Most women I know cut their hair real short when they become moms. I understand why, your baby pulls it and it hurts like hell and besides it's time to become sensible. But I just couldn't do it. What am I afraid of? Will I lose my strength like Sampson when Delilah cut off his hair? Probably not. I guess it is just the rebel in me trying real hard to keep that tom boy looking girl at bay. Who knows? One of these days I'm going to work up the nerve and donate my hair to one of those organizations that makes wigs for people with cancer. A good friend of mind has recently been diagnosed with cancer so I probably should.

Until then, I will keep repeating this mantra: "My hair is not an extension of myself."

Maybe so, maybe not.....

It Take a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Breakdown to Cry

I'm probably the world's biggest crybaby. I really can't remember when this emotional control problem began but I can trace one instance to the third grade. I had accidentally spilled my entire Trapper Keeper all over the floor which was embarrassing enough. But then Mrs. McCall, my teacher, fussed me out about it which really set me off. I ended up sobbing uncontrollably, you know the kind of cry where you can't even catch your breath. So as if spilling my notebook wasn't embarrassing enough, crying like that was even more so.

I have always been very sensitive, but I end up crying in many other kinds of situations. I cry of course when I'm sad, but also when I'm mad, frustrated, overwhelmed, and even when I'm happy. In fact, my crying problem has gotten worse after having a child. So now I cry at preschool graduations, school plays and functions, and just talking about the cute (and not so cute) things my kid does. I cry during Little House on the Praire epidsodes and that stupid credit card commercial with the 100 Years song by Five for Fighting. What is my problem?

The part that I hate the most though is when I cry when I am mad. I can't tell you how many times when I have wanted so badly to keep my composure and stand up for myself, but the tears always get in the way. It's pretty hard for someone to take you seriously or respect you when you're crying like a big fat baby. I have tried the deep breathing and relaxation techniques but to no avail. I'm doomed to have the water works turned on anytime I experience any intense emotion.

In my previous post I talked about the car breakdown and how my outlook for once had not been as bleak, and therefore I didn't feel the need to cry. Usually when faced with this kind of life stress I would have been a big ball of tears. But that time I was able to talk myself off the "crying" ledge, so to speak and felt carefree and fancy free. However, one should never laugh in the face of fate (or whatever it is) because it just might come back to kick you in the ass. My car problems have continued with the same exact thing over the past two weeks. I had another $300 worth of work, not to mention the $135 tow, fixing my ignition switch which I was told the first time was not faulty, that my problem was just a blown fuse. So after getting that replaced, it happened again. So it's back at the dealership and they're still trying to figure out what's wrong. This time is was another blown fuse, so obviously something is causing the fuse to blow. They just have to figure it out. It's frustrating nonetheless, so I had to have a good cry -finally.

So, is there a lesson in all of this? Maybe we shouldn't deny who we are. Maybe I should embrace the fact that I'm quick to cry. I oftentimes feel much better after a good sobbing-red, puffy eyes and all. So why fight it? I'm not asking for pity, I only need a release. So someone please hand me some kleenex.....I feel a cry coming on.

*footnote: my apologies to Mr. Bob Dylan for the reckless "borrowing & amending" of his song titles on my last two posts. I give credit where credit is due.