Let’s Keep Halloween for ADULTS!

 

You may have noticed you’re only getting one this week.

 

That’s because it’s Halloween, dammit!  Why are you reading blogs when there’s spooky outside?

photo of the sun with flares in the shape of jack-o'-lantern grin

Even the SUN is getting spooki.

 

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What’s WRONG With People??

 

Here is a thing I do not understand.  And I know from reading the comments that some of you[1] do not enjoy haunted houses, so I put it to you:

 

Why do people who paid for the privilege of being scared get all aggressive about the fact that they got what they paid for?

 

Haunted house customer (on Ellen) flailing and shouting "STOP IT! STOP IT NOW!"

That’s not your safe word.

 

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My Gym Rat

 

This week contains my last few “normal” days before I begin terrorizing the citizens of St. Louis every single night,[1] which means I’m spending whatever little bits of time I can with Husband—cuddling, sitting with him while he finally watches Mindhunter,[2] and taking care of some projects we foolishly put off until the least convenient season.

 

Yes, I really want to tell you about one of them, but I can’t.  It’s too big (and not at a shareable stage yet).  We’ll get there, I promise.

 

But my altered schedule makes my nightly call with Offspring easier; most nights I just call him when I’m on my way home to wash the blood out of my hair.[3]

(Ready or Not) Bride in torn, burned, bloody wedding dress, covered in blood spatter, hair matted with blood and grit, giggles.

 

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2019: In With a Sniffle

 

I really want to give you something special today.  I want to start 2019 off with a bang, you know?

 

But here’s the thing: I’m sick as a fucking dog* and dealing with some serious post-holiday blah on top of it all.

 

This was our first Christmas with Offspring as a (welcome!  So very welcome we almost didn’t let him leave) “visitor” rather than a permanent installment in our home, and now my holiday season has an official end: the day he leaves.  Always before, I was content—determined, even—to keep my tree and my carols and my lights going as long as would be permitted by Husband, the neighbors, and local laws.  But when I hugged Private Squdgee Booboo goodbye (and went right back to bed because his flight was at bullshit o’clock) I had no further desire to light the tree.  It’s not that I’m over Christmas, it’s just… it all looks sort of sad now that he’s not here.  Like a Who house after the Grinch left; all hooks and wire and crumbs.

(How the Grinch Stole Christmas) sad Who house, all stripped bare of Christmas cheer and decor following a visit from the Grinch; wires and scraggly bits of tinsel hang from hooks and the hearth is bare

 

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