I left work on time(ish) today and I’m not going back until next year.
We’re celebrating by eating lots of Indian food, drinking lots of wine and talking about boys. (And to make sure we have plenty of time to do all of this, we have arranged for the guys to go out together and talk about us. Clever, yes.)
Happy holidays. Do something crazy this year.
So the neighbors put up their Christmas display this weekend, complete with multiple moving parts. They have two trees. Two! One on the lawn, with ornaments and everything, and a second, fancier one inside.
They also made me promise to get them on the list of noteworthy displays in the paper, like I did for Halloween. (Not that we’ve even thought about starting that list at work yet.)
And at my house? Nothing. But it’s a matter of days before I bend to social pressures and nail a stupid wreath to my door.
But no tree. NO TREE.
I was supposed to only be in charge of the green bean casserole. But somehow there are sweet potatoes and dressing in my oven.
And sweet potato goo tracked all over the floor. It’s a mess. Not my fault.
Dad brought over the dressing (Mom didn’t have anywhere to put/reheat it once she put it together) this morning and crafted a food transportation strategy for me. This is good, because it wouldn’t have occurred to me that transporting three very hot dishes might be tricky.
Anyone want to place a bet on how long it’ll be before they bring over a Christmas tree and put it up for me?
Some trick-or-treaters are cute.
But most of them are little bastards who just hold out their bags and wait for you to give them candy. No “trick-or-treat” and certainly no “thank you.”
The little kids get a pass on this one. They’re shy and inexperienced, and for that, they get extra candy.
But the little bastards with NO COSTUMES, well, I wish them upset stomachs and many, many cavities.
In other news, a guy from work lives down the street from me, which I discovered when I was giving his daughter (who is not a little bastard) a handful of candy and heard him say, “Katie?!?!? Is that you??!?” in a very “WTF?!?” tone of voice. Awesome. Eagle employees seem to live in clusters, and I think I’m in a pretty good cluster.
And the Halloween-crazed neighbors across the street? I put their address on the newspaper’s list of best-decorated houses (don’t ask how I ended up in charge of that), and they were totally pumped to have achieved that very small degree of celebrity. Their display actually turned out to be quite impressive. I have now changed my mental categorization for them from “questionable/weird” to “intriguing/weird” (which is, I suppose, a compliment because most of the people I date come from the “intriguing/weird” category).
Also, someone needs to take the leftover candy away from me. Please. Seriously, please.
I just got home from the newsroom Halloween party. Most fun I’ve had since I moved back to Wichita.
Props to the hosts. Additional props to everyone who showed up in costume. Special props to my fellow costume contest winners. And final props to beer. And also wine.
I decided to pretend to be a nice lady. I was going to buy a crappy costume and some crappy candy and do the Halloween stuff.
So when I leave the house, of course I’m confronted with the friendly neighbors who are stringing up skull lanterns and building a graveyard on their lawn. I decided to pretend also to be a friendly neighbor, so I went over to say hi and ask how much candy I’ll need to supply all the gremlins who’ll come knocking next Tuesday.
And what do I find out?
So I bought three tons of candy at Sams. I’m going to make up with generosity what I lack in holiday spirit. Because I am not going to spend my dressing up and putting on a show for every kid who rings my doorbell.
Now if it were attractive available men ringing my doorbell — well, that would be a way awesomer holiday.
I’ve been thinking that
it would be way awesome if
Al Gore was my dad
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