Chop Me Up

October 15th, 2006

When did weekends stop being exciting moments of wonder and non-stop excitement? Somehow, in the last few years my weekends have shifted from a whirlwind of activity and mild debauchery to neverending moments of mundane banality where a weekend that includes not one, but TWO trips to Target is enough to make you want to dance around in your underwear, because my God, the possibilities! The cheap furniture! The accessory department full of inexpensive, yet cute, necklaces, scarves, socks and other useless crap! The Halloween decorations!

Adam and I starkly differ in our desired Halloween approach. I’m not a big fan of Halloween as an active participant – I think it goes with the whole odd sort of introverted extrovert thing – the apple bobbing, the parties, the forced socializing while wearing ridiculous costumes, not to mention the pressure to come up with the perfect costume that is neither cheesy nor too fraught with effort. The last Halloween I trick or treated, I was fresh out of costume ideas and opted to throw a white sheet over my head call it a Ghost Day. It was an unusually warm night, and the only five minutes I spent with the sheet off to cool down, a car full of angry teenagers screamed, “TRICK OR TREAT, NERDS!” and threw eggs at our heads, which, of course, landed squarely on me. And so, I was left to slog my way home with egg on my face as I toted my sad little Food Lane bag of Charleston Chews and nickels.

Halloween and I have never really been friends, and the Mellowcreme Pumpkins and candy corn don’t help the cause, as I find both appalling, I don’t care if there is honey involved. But as a candy giver-outer, I’m pretty excited. We have a ton of kids in our neighborhood – so many we actually ran out of candy last year, and had to be That House with the lights off, while we cowered in the bedroom and ignored the repeated dingdong of the doorbell. This year, I was all for getting a little festive, particularly as I’ve come to know and love a lot of the kids, and also, in case you forgot, apparently have nothing better to do. For some reason, I convinced myself that we should do some sort of Halloween diorama, with giant skeletons and light up trees and pumpkins! There would be pumpkins! Cobwebs! Spiders! And ghosts and bats and lights! I was getting wildly carried away and was thisclose to loading a six-foot Nightmare Before Christmas tree into the cart when Adam stepped in and started making…classier recommendations, and fine, whatever, he won, we have a ceramic pumpkin. Let it be known that I’m not pleased. However, Sunny does have a costume, and let me tell you, it was a battle to get that bill passed. And so, for the first time in 20 years, I am excited about Halloween, even if it doesn’t involve a life-size talking skeleton.

Incidentally, while at Target, I overheard a couple discussing what they would give out for trick-or-treaters this year, and the wife actually tried to convince her husband to forgo candy (“It’s so bad for them!”) in favor of Halloween-themed packs of plates and napkins. I’m sure the kids will be thrilled with their skeleton-themed paper plates while they gorge themselves on peanut butter cups, bitch.

Separately, once again the sleep deprivation is on in full force, this time because the cat has taken to somehow opening and going through my jewelry box, and bringing said jewelry into our bed in the middle of the night to play with. Both nights this weekend, I was awakened around 4 a.m. to a necklace dangling over my lips, or beads rolling around under my arms as his little needle-claws sought out the treasures he dropped for me to find. As an added bonus, this morning at 6, I found him trying to eat a small silver necklace off of my neck, his hot stinky breath rousing me from my slumber, not to mention his teeth digging their way into my jugular. And for the first time ever, I have decided that he is just a little asshole, and we’re not speaking.

And finally, two small tidbits that nearly sent me into orbit this weekend:
– A mutual friend asked Adam if I was pregnant after seeing a few pictures on Flickr (not mine, Adam’s, although his are much the same as mine), and when Adam protested, actually pressed the issue, “Are you sure?” And then a lighthearted discussion of “Uh, are you calling my wife fat?” ensued, and lo, I’m sure it was fabulous and this poor guy has no idea that Adam told me, but, it just CAME OUT, because that’s just how we are, and wow, if that isn’t a thrilling addition to a cold sore and stye-themed weekend, I don’t know what is. (And for those of you playing along at home who actually know us, his nickname begins with Z. Begin planning retribution.)

- In happier, yet also bizarre news, however, I am shamed to admit that I have listened to, and subsequently purchased Justin Timberlake’s latest, and uh, I like it quite a bit. No, I’m sorry, I love it. I love it. I actually love it, as embarrassing as that is, and I don’t care who knows! I still don’t think he’s hot, however, and Cameron can have him.

And though the weekend may be boring as hell to read about, it did indeed involve heirloom tomatoes, which did make it quite good. I hope you were as lucky.

*Justin Timberlake, of course.

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