Tuesday, November 23, 2010

A Thank You

I'm seriously at a loss for words.

Which let's face it, for me, is not very often.

Life keeps on teaching me new things, and with that being said, it grows sweeter by the day.

I haven't been surprised since my 15th birthday. No one gets anything past me. This weekend, not only did I get a wonderful surprise, I had a friendship concreted in stone. I could sit down and write a thank you note to the two of you, but this seems like a much more appropriate way to tell you how grateful I am to have you in our lives.

We met Ally and Aaron while we were still living in England. We went to a Halloween party where I was dressed up as a "rock of love" girl and Chad was Brett Michaels. I got a little "rock of love" with my drinking, but in the process I told Ally my name was Tabitha. I seem to do that quite a bit. Weird. Anyways, back to the story. Chad, Ally, and Aaron all came together to surprise me with a visit from Ally! On a random Thursday, she just walked into my kitchen. She flew all the way from Kansas to come see me.

Sometimes it's not about how long you've known someone, it's about how they make you feel. They are such open-minded, free spirited, giving, grounded and centered people. I always feel like I can say the exact words that are in my head and mouth, without fear of offending them. They in turn, make me feel like a semi-rockstar. I am so happy to be around them. We have had awesome dinners together, and I feel like we have enriched each other's lives.

Ally and Aaron bought us our crib. THEY BOUGHT OUR CRIB. It brings tears to my eyes just typing it. I feel so close to them, and by her coming to visit and by Aaron letting us stay with him while we transitioned out of England, I know they feel the same. I honestly feel like they are family. When I say this, I mean it. I am HONORED to know both of them. Not only are they spending their hard earned military money on us, it's on something that has so much meaning.

I am grateful for the many blessings in my life. You two have brought such happiness to my life, and I know that in the years to come we will only grow closer. I look forward to the long haul, knowing that we will watch our children grow up together. We will provide each other with laughter, and  be there through the tears. My only regret is not having known you sooner. More people should be as lucky as we are to have you both in our lives.

Thank you both for the wonderful gift. Charlie will sleep in it every night and I will tell him all about the laughs we have had along the way. When you come to visit, he will know who you are because he sleeps in the gift that you gave him.

I can't wait for Charlie to meet his Aunt Ally and Uncle Aaron.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Prego Hormo

I'm friggin serious about sheets. Not even a little joking. I could easily become a hoarder on sheets alone. The truth of the matter is that you spend a little under half of your life doing one thing. Sleeping. I believe that it should be done in style and with no less than 600 thread count of pure cotton.

I spent like 4 days being pissed off over a set of sheets Chad and I bought. I asked the lady at Macy's if they would get little pills on them. She firmly said no they wouldn't. She told me to keep the reciept and if they got pilly to bring them back. Well, we moved. That receipt is in the void of nothingness. Those sheets are now pilly. $160 sheets. I am so angry. Now, I have to go over the whole stinkin bed with a razor and shave my sheets. Shaving my legs is a chore because of the amount of surface area I must cover. We have a king size bed. I will be done sometime next week, and I will still be angry.

Chad and I stopped in at Marshalls and decided to look at pillow cases while we were there. Pillow cases are something you can never have enough of. If you don't know what to get me sometime....pillow cases and expensive shampoo. That's pretty much an awesome gift. That and maybe some of those Chinese throwing stars.

So, ok. Chad and I were in the aisle with the sheets and there were seriously like 10 choices for pillow cases. This lady comes walking down the aisle and instead of doing the normal thing people do in stores when they want something near where two people are standing, she seriously just slid in front of me. Like something out of the cartoons. Like extended shoe and leg, rest of body glide to meet. Who shoves a pregnant lady out of the way? My hormones are off the chiz-ain lately. I am like the Incredible Hulk of pregnant women. Needless to say I was green. I walked off in a huff... and said "Way to push a helpless pregnant lady out of the way to look at pillow cases. RUDE!"

We went to look at baby clothes next. Lady ends up a row over and I was trying to get back to where Chad was. So, I walked passed her, and totally knocked her giganto purse off her shoulder and watched as it attacked her wrist. She said, "Excuse ME!" I turned around and said, "Yea, whatever." Then did a little bitchy laugh of taunting. If this went down with a fight, who would win when the cops showed up? Pretty sure the pregnant crying lady is a trump card.

Looking back at it, I am totally sitting here like WTF?!? Holy prego hormo!

I'm a little ashamed, and a little proud. The little balls I am carrying around inside of me apparently made their first appearance at Marshalls.

Thursday, November 18, 2010


I lived with my grandfather for 14 years. He came to live with us at my parent's house when I was 2. I called him Pap. He used to totally piss me off. That used to make him laugh. I used to roll around on a pink tricycle motorcycle, and he would say "Lizzie Lizzie thumper, cow poops dumper." I would get sooooooooo angry over that. Seriously, who says that? My Pap, that's who. Looking back, I totally got my sense of humor thru him. He used to come home from the grocery store with scratch off tickets and pastries for me. I would never act thrilled. But, deep down, it was AWESOME.

As I got older, our relationship seemingly fizzled. I think it was just the inevitable growing up process. I saw him get sicker, and saw the strain that it had on my mother and on us. I watched him recover from open heart surgery, and return to eating bacon cooked in bacon fat, with eggs every day. He enjoyed his drink too. Maybe a little too much, but by the time he got to live at my house it was seemingly under control. In the evenings he would stay in his part of the house. I think that's because he would be tipping back some Scotch. When you are 75 do what you want I say.

He raised 3 beautiful girls. He worked. He worked. He worked. He was a prison guard during a time when being one was a scary terrible job. He was exposed to Tuberculosis. He worked in the coal mines of Pennsylvania, and had black lung to prove it. He went to war during the second World War. He was stationed in England, where he met my Grandma. During his time in the Army he was a cook. My Pap could really cook. He needed to make more money to support 3 growing girls, and so he took a job as a gardener for a local well to do family as an extra source of income. When he lived at our house he grew Gardenias, and to this day when I smell Gardenias I think of Pap.

When I got to my teen years, I became embarrassed by having Pap living with us. I didn't want to have friends over, and felt like I was different because my grandfather lived with us. Looking back I realize that my Mom was just a very kind, trend setter. It's become more and more prevalent these days.

I turned 16 on July 22, 1997. I saw my Pap alive on that very same day. The next day he took his final breath. I believe he held on for one last day, for me. So, that I wouldn't forever be torn with his death and my birth. I found out I was pregnant on the 23rd of July this year.

I am no longer embarrassed to have had you in my life Pap. To that, I named my son Charles, for you. May he be just as strong willed, hard working, and full of life as you were.

I never cried after he passed. I never knew why. I thought for the longest time, I must not have loved him. Now, I realize, that I loved him more than I was able to comprehend at that time. I wasn't able to process thru it all. It hurt to much to let go, and now I never have to. I sit here writing this balling my eyes out. I am proud to have a son named Charlie.

Miss you Pap.

Charles Atticus

We are having a boy.

We really wanted a boy.

You aren't supposed to say that.

I was a TERRIBLE kid thru the teenage angst years. Finding out I wouldn't be having a girl to repay me trifold was like cake wrapped in cookies. When the ultrasound tech wrote the name "Charles" on our ultrasound this is the exact feeling I had:
1. super happy!
2. You know when a cop speeds up behind you with lights flashing and you have that panic feeling of OMG he's catching me ridin' dirrrty! (even though the closest thing to something illegal you have in your car is a candy wrapper) Then, just as your heart begins to really feel like you will have to pull over for the impending heart attack, he just pulls around you and speeds off for some other unlucky bastard. That is how I felt when we were told it's a boy.

Chad and I rushed to the store to buy Charlie some outfits. Deep down I thought we had a boy in there, but with the 12 other pregnant people I know having boys, I assumed luck was running out.

I KNEW it had to be a boy though because penises weird me out. That's why I have girl dogs.

I apparently like baby's in robot clothing. Both outfits we bought have robots on them.

Which is actually quite fitting, because his mom does a MEAN robot dance.

So, I suppose I should familiarize myself with some things.
1. farts
2. bugs
3. dirt
4. boogers
5. broken bones


Speaking of farts....... pregnancy does some wicked things to your body beyond make your belly feel like a piece of stretched out silly putty. Charlie has been kicking around in there and for all intents and purposes I think he is using my intestines like monkey bars. He's put a few kinks in my hose. Last weekend......it.....happened....... I broke wind in bed with Chad still awake. He looked over and assumed one of the dogs made a weird noise. He asked which one did it, and my face wouldn't let me pick a dog. I would have pulled the covers up over my head, but dutch oven-ing yourself is just stupid. So, I fessed up. He didn't shame me. He was like, "Oh, so what! We all fart!" ehem, break wind. I shamed myself enough for both of us. I think I slept all of 3 hours that night out of sheer embarrassment. This happened before we found out we were having a boy. I think it was an omen. Because as we all know, boys=farts.

I have so much more to tell you...but it will have to wait. I don't want this post to be SUPER LONG. So, in the future you will find out about the name Charles Atticus, having children is not a happy time in my extended family, and me getting all prego hormo (that's pregnant hormonal) on some lady in Marshalls.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Letter to Future Me

This is a post to future me.

When I am dealing with teen angst, hormones, drinking, and sex.

I tend to forget things as I get older. I seem to magically no longer remember bits from my past, like knocking a friend's rearview mirror off the windshield with my head. My memory is horrible. I am glad I have friends that remind me of my life. (we will find out years from now I have some weird memory disorder and they will make movies about me)

So, future Liz. There will come a time when you are faced with the dreaded sex talk. I want to give future Liz a few pointers on how to deal with this from a more youthful perspective. Realistically speaking, I will be around 45 when T starts down that road. Future me isn't as cool as present me. Present me doesn't get puked on.

Note to self. Remind T of your first heavy drinking experience. You know, the time when you went to your Mom's friends house, downed 1/4 of a bottle of Absolute, and walked around your Mom's friends house topless.  Yea. I did that. Can't forget the end of the story....where I peed the bed. I don't want to have to find a waterproof mattress cover for my 17 year old. If I do have to, I will be telling allllllll of your friends T.

Dear Future Liz,
   Remember when you were 17? You drank, made bad decisions, and lost your virginity. Teach your kid to drink responsibly. Show them that you do in fact drink, and that when you do, you have a DD. At least one time while being an "example" pretend to become super drunk and totally embarrass the ever living crap out said child. Not by telling embarrassing child related stories, but by dancing on table tops, talking on your shoe phone, and telling everyone your college exploits. Pop out an old lady boob for extra points. It will show your kid that they never want to be that person. 

  Try to think back to when you were 17. Britney Spears was all the rage, you got your belly button pierced at a place that was probably condemned for hepatitis. Even Jenna Jameson was like, "Ugh! That place is dirty!" (in my thoughts Jenna Jameson narrates) Most of all you wanted to be sexy. You wanted boys to want you. Don't make sex something uncomfortable. If you want your child to NEVER talk to you about sex, reference your own sex life with Chad. That will pretty much make said child NEVER talk to you about it. Instead, focus on the reality. In this day and age, a lot of people don't have the luxury of meeting 1 person and it's happily ever after. Think of sex like Halloween candy. When you get all those choices, you pick the good candy. You don't eat all of it at once, or you get sick, and the Tootsie rolls go uneaten because they just aren't that great. Just because sex is being offered by tons, don't accept because you will get sick, or you will end up having sex with a lot of Tootsie rolls. Also, tell kid that saran wrap is not an acceptable alternative to a condom.

  Remind your kid that they have YEARS to go before they will likely settle down into a long term relationship with the person they will marry. So, don't start racking up the numbers too young or by the time you get to the "right" age they will feel like a New York subway car.

  Your kid is gunna get their heart broken too. Remember what it feels like, and don't act like everything is sunshine and butterflies. It's tough. It's THE WORST when you are going thru it for the first time. Sit down with kid and eat a bag of Oreos and a carton of ice cream. Talk about all the stuff you hated about the jerk that did it. (note to self, you are never allowed to have an opinion about other person incase they get back together)

  When my kid starts dating, don't be an ass hole to the person they are dating. Remember what it was like when your high school boyfriend's Mom decided she wanted him to date another girl because her parents owned a carpet store and she was remodeling her basement? Yeah, be the nice Mom that invites people to stay for dinner.

  If I think of more, I will write to future me again. For now, keep being cool Liz.

Love Always,

Monday, November 8, 2010

How Not to Buy Jeggings.

So I am carrying high.

It probably means T-Money is a girl.

If you believe propaganda.

I live above the influence.

Most of the time.

Since I am carrying high, I decided I could use a couple more pairs of jeans. Jeggings (BLASPHEMY!) seemed like a logical way to stay in style while not cutting off circulation to my netherlands. American Eagle makes me feel like a pedophile. You know, you walk in, there is a girl there that is 17 with legs like a giraffe. The employee's are all ex-cheerleaders that lurk throughout the store talking on their Britney Spears headsets about the creepy 30 something in the store. They start tweeting Amber alerts as a precaution when Chad and I walk in. Sooooo, I decided Express was where my generation is shopping now. I usually like going there. Except that I like to do things like eat food, so I can't really afford to spend $70 on jeans right now. But, I thought if I find the PERFECT pair of jeggings and I would.

*side note: there is no such thing as a perfect pair of jeggings, I now know this.

I find a pile of jeans/jeggings that I hope will fit me. I head towards the opening to the fitting rooms. I stand in the void of nothingness as the dressing room attendant ignores me. I then have this conversation with faux hawk jerry curl.
Me: Are the the dressing rooms in use?
(there's a long pause and blank stare, probably the robot booting up)
Faux Hawk: Ummm yea, and the line is at the other end of the store.
Me: Sorry, I feel so silly for assuming that the opening to the dressing rooms was a way IN.
Faux Hawk: Right, well most people don't make that mistake.
....................this is where I start losing my temper and I blacked out in a fit of pregnancy rage, what I remember probably didn't really happen because I am not in jail..............
Me: Well, perhaps a sign or two might distinguish entrance from exit. Didn't realize that your job was that important dude.
Faux Hawk: I save lives. One pair of jeans at a time.
Me: You do realize that your job consists of folding clothes that have been directly next to people's crotches right?
Faux Hawk: Yes, but I do it exclusively in Express clothing.

I waiting for 20 minutes for a dressing room. Just to realize that Express missed the memo on Jeggings. They are supposed to be stretch pants disguised as jeans. Not jeans with some stretch in them. Those are just normal jeans. I left 6 pairs of jeans on the floor inside the dressing room. I went so far as to turn every pair inside out.

I showed him.

Suck it Express. I would rather wear Mom jeans than apparel made out of the hopes and dreams of everyone that tries on clothes at your store. I am pretty sure I am going to start telling people that's what my clothes are made out of. That and lima beans. They don't have nearly enough to do. Except make people fart.

Where did you get those jeans?

The store that makes apparel out of hopes and dreams of everyone else that tried this on and failed. I got to  keep the jeans because I figured out how to put them on.

My Hormones Made Me Say It

I thought about trying to make this into a funny post.

I am having one of those panicky days where I am just a ball of nerves for no real reason.

Today isn't any sort of holiday.

There is no birthday.

There's just me an my thoughts.

It's not me bragging. It's me stating facts.

Before I get into this, I better start with a little warning. I am going to be telling you how amazing Chad is. I don't like to do this publicly too much for a couple of reasons. First of all, people are dicks, and when they know you are happy they get all weird and crap on your front door step...but figuratively. Second of all, I don't talk Chad up because I am not trying to sell him. I don't want other women getting ideas. There is regular, step off he's my husband crazy, and there's preggo all up on you blood bath style crazy. I would be in the second category right now. I am not afraid to pee a circle around my husband, and may or may not carry a tire iron in my purse. Just sayin. My boobs are way to big right now to carry around a pocket knife in my bra.

Ok to the reason I am writing today. Chad is pretty much the most amazing dude ever. I am grateful for so many reasons to him. Just last night, he just got up and let the dogs out. I didn't have to ask him, I didn't have to prompt him. He just got up, and did it. It's a small thing. I know. However, he does TONS of things like this. I don't have to hound him to take out the trash. Or to mow the lawn. He leaves his socks in weird places, but it's annoyingly cute. I just can't help but think about all the private parts out there that won't even get up to let out the dogs. Their response would be, "it's your dog." I've lived that life. It was terrible.

Chad makes me feel comfortable in my own skin. I can pop a zit in the mirror while he's brushing his teeth and it doesn't matter. He calms me down. He is my centralizing force. He tells me when people around me are completely insane. Which seems to be quite often. He comes to my rescue. He is ornery. Cheeky some might say. He is easy to please. He has a good appetite. He isn't thrown off by small changes. He is super excited for the baby to come. He rubs my belly every day to say hello. He gets up and goes to work every day without coaxing or complaints. He doesn't complain about his job. He tells me when things are bothering him. He takes help when he needs it. He laughs at my jokes. He reads my blog. He tells me when I am being a bitch. He lets me be me. He is amused by the very stupidity of me. He has a heart of gold. He kisses me hello. He is my best friend. I couldn't ask for more in a friend.

I love you Cha Cha.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

24 Ways to Insult Someone Properly

Ok. So here's the deal. Today I am not holding back. I am telling it how it is.

The other day you may have noticed my profile pic on FB change. To that of a sexy man. It's a friend of mine. A few other friends of mine have also put his pic as their profile pic. People's response? "Fag."

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Really? That's what you come up with? It's a DUDE STANDING IN FRONT OF A WATERFALL. THAT'S WHAT YOU COME UP WITH?!? Somehow, this is more acceptable than using an actual cuss word. No dice people. No dice.

I am about to punch puppies, kittens, and McDonald's employees in the throat over this. STOP USING THE WORD FAG TO MAKE FUN OF SOMEONE. STOP USING THE WORD RETARD TO DESCRIBE SOMEONE. It's not just that it's hurtful. We have been saying that for a long time. We all know that. It's more at this point angering because of the lack of thought people are willing to put into their insults. I get that these are social norms. Let's stop. Not only because they are hurtful and completely lacking creativity, but because words like "rad" and "not" died out and so should these words. These words have a lot more meaning to them than "sike" and it's time we just stopped. I urge everyone to stop being an ass hat. Don't put someone down at another group's expense.

This is a tired topic, so instead of focusing on the why you should nots, I am going to focus on alternatives. They will be divided into two categories. The non cussing terms and the cussing terms.

Cussing alternatives:
We will start with a basic sentence.
That girl is a complete:
1. ass turkey
2. fucking ball bag
3. shit fest
4. ass-tacular disaster
5. fucking STD
6. dick bag
7. prick scratcher
8. damn douchebag
9. fuck ball
10. ass hat
11. shit sniffer
12. dick biter

Non cussing alternatives:
We will start with a basic sentence.
That guy is a total:
1. private part
2. poop nugget
3. shop teacher with 1 finger
4. wedgie
5. piece of butt lint
6. urinal cake
7. leaking nipple
8. anal gland
9. tampon
10. penis drip
11. vagina puncher
12. tea pot

I have given 24 AWESOME alternatives that do not offend anything but actual butts, balls, and a tea pot. Show your creativity by leaving comments with your own creative insults.

Also, you all are welcome to share this blog with your friends. I kind of want to be a big deal. :)

Friday, November 5, 2010

Hangovers and Babies

I am keeping it realz. Fo' realz.

I am one of the first in my circle of friends and family to have a baby. You can read lots and lots of books about pregnancy, but most of them sugar coat the truth. This is in no way meant to deter you from having a baby AT ALL. I am just giving my lady friends a bit of a heads up on what to expect in the first portion of pregnancy.

Being pregnant is sort of like having a hangover while in college. You know, when you were still young enough to binge drink, feel like crap the next day for like 6 hours, and then rally to do it again. Except those 6 hours aren't all in a row....they are spread out throughout the day. Mostly at the worst times ever. Like during deep and meaningful conversations, or sex. Your mind starts to wander off thinking about puking in decanters and decorative vases.

The hormones will make you have some wicked headaches too. You will be allowed to take Tylenol only. For me, Tylenol is like eating tic tacs for hemorrhoids. In time, I have accepted Tylenol for what it is and use it regularly hoping my liver doesn't stop working.

You will seek out people that have already had kids to ask if some of your symptoms are normal. Things such as not pooping for days, severe stabbing pains, and bleeding gums. Yes, I said bleeding gums. Your gums change while you are preggo too.

You will have a friend or relative that you confide in that had "the perfect pregnancy." My mom was one of them. What you have to remember about a lot of these women is that it happened 29 years ago and they have idealized something that IS special but in no way a cake walk. You tell them things like, "My insides are sore" or "I feel like I just got off a horse." They then tell you that's not normal. You will not like these people. Apparently they remember pregnancy like something out of The Sound of Music.

I feel like I just got off a horse. (College really did prepare me for pregnancy) It is from the ligaments and joints in your lower body stretching out to prepare for birth. Every time the word "birth" is mentioned you will feel everything in your body sort of seize up in a sort of panic.

The other thing that I would like to talk about is comparing pregnancy to a day at the amusement park. You will talk about the rides on your way there, you will stand in line excited to get on the ride, you will get on the ride....and as the coaster clicks its way to the top you start to think about it. You start to think, shit I don't know if this was such a good idea. Will they just hurry up and GOOOOOOOOOOOO.

That's sort of how the first time your pregnant you feel. I personally wanted kids for a bagillion years. Now, it's in there. T-Money is chillin' in the front seat, and I am clicking up the coaster. It's the anticipation of birth (insides seize), life changing, and all the unknowns. It's sort of like every week that goes by is one more agonizing click on that coaster.

Then, you see the ultrasound. You see the small little legs, and the tail (yea babies have tails at first), and you realize that you made that. You hear the heart beat, and you cry. You can't help it.  When you feel the baby kick for the first time, EVERYTHING melts away. It's like your first kiss, and first everything all wrapped into one.

Countdown to gender: 11 days.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Jumpin' Out of Planes

Today is a cussing kind of day.

It's pouring down rain, and I had to turn the heat on. 

I don't know what happened to me but I am sleeping in until 10-11 every day. For like 4 days straight. 

Apparently I am 20 again. Sweet. 

Oh good. Lil Wayne is out of prison. I have spent so many sleepless nights worrying about that guy. You know, because he has face tattoos. Not just one or two either, like 20...and they all look to be done with some form of Bic pen and a knife. 

So, I spent most of last night tossing and turning. Why? Because of Cha Cha's fucked up job. When I talk about his job, I cuss. Especially when it's this job. So, Chad jumps out of airplanes. That sounds AWESOME right? Wrong. It was cute when we were both like 26. When landing didn't mean hours on a frozen bag of peas and me inspecting his groin for signs of a hernia. It was cute when I didn't have his child chillin' in my front seat. (that's what I am calling my uterus these days) Now, when I think about him jumping, I think about things like pushing a stroller and a wheelchair at the same time. Then I think, well that would just be stupid. I could just get a double stroller and Chad could just squeeze in and shut the fuck up. But, STILL way not cool. 

It would be different if it was an every day occurrence. No, it really wouldn't. But, they have them do this every 3 months or so. That's a lot of time to forget how to do something. After 2 months I forget my own  Meatloaf recipe and that doesn't entail me jumping out of a plane at 500 ft careening towards the Earth. How awesome would it be if there were a new reality show where they made you memorize a recipe and remember it for 3 months, and if you couldn't remember it they would just push you out of a plane? 

When I am trying to sleep on the nights when he has to jump, it makes me think about all the injuries that Cha Cha has sustained while in his current job. When we are both like 92, I am going to be dragging my dirty diaper behind me and changing out Chad's drool cup. He will be on all fours on the floor because he is too stubborn to have gotten help, or a wheel chair. Now, I just change out his drool cup and use him as a foot stool. I make him crawl out on the back patio and spray him down with a hose like people do with dogs.

Just so everyone knows. He got up at 4 to go do his "daredeviling" as I like to call it. He got there, stood around for about 3 hours and then was told to go home because it wasn't safe. Ummmmmm. I am pretty sure it is NEVER safe to jump out of a plane. Just sayin. 

Now, that I have written this, I will try to locate the smell that had me up in the middle of the night. I went to pee and eat an apple at 2 AM. That's what pregnant women do, I lurk around my kitchen wearing panties and a tank top eating things right out of the fridge thinking about peeping toms. All of the sudden BAM! I smelled dirty locker room. I spent 5 minutes trying to locate what on earth near our kitchen would smell like sweaty balls and gym socks. I am going to take another crack at it. 

After I shower. 

To ensure I wasn't just somehow smelling myself. 

Monday, November 1, 2010

Trick Or Treat!

      Ok. I went to a college that was BONKERS over Halloween. It is my favorite holiday. It is always filled with memories every year. This year was a little less eventful because I had to be an adult and not drink. Boo.

      Why is Halloween my favorite holiday? It's simple. It doesn't involve family members fighting, and stressed thoughts of what to purchase for someone. It is purely about debauchery and fun. Kids can dress up as dragons and ghosts and adults can dress up as all the things that they never became. Such as ninjas, pirates, and prostitutes. Or, cop/nurse/witch/pirate/cat prostitutes. I actually think it's a bummer that girls don't allow themselves to be "naughty" more nights out of the year. I guess it's because all that pleather is bound to cause yeast infections, and one night a year is plenty for causing that kind of a stir.

      So last night Chad and I sat out on the front porch to hand out candy. 1,000 doorbell rings is a good way to make my high maintenance dog have an epic proportion panic attack. Plus, being a stranger and handing out candy to children, is always better when done out in the open.

      There are a few things about trick or treat that I would like to discuss.

1.  First of all, free candy is awesome. We tell our kids not to take candy from strangers, and then on Halloween we tell them not only to take a piece or two, but go ahead and go from door to door asking for candy from strangers. I'm totally going to take part in taking my kids Trick or Treating, but still it's sort of like my thoughts on the Easter Bunny. Rabbits don't lay eggs! Most people don't even know why we go around trick or treating either, or that Halloween is actually a morphed Christian holiday. "Soul cakes" have been replaced by candy.

2.  I also would like to congratulate the parents that would take their kids trick or treating 5-6 houses at a time IN THEIR CAR. Really? Is this for safety? Get out and walk your ass along with your kids. OR don't let your kids go in the first place because we all know these are the same people with the magnifying glasses and metal detectors to check the candy for razor blades. They probably do what birds do, only with the halloween candy. Chew it up to check for poison and blades and then spit it into their kids mouths. Mmmmm regurgitated Reese's cups.

3. We live in a weird area. We butt up against some houses that are on farm land, and in the woods. We also live in an allotment with some REALLY nice houses. I have to tell you about these people. They drove into out allotment on super revved up go carts, and drove their kids around to grab candy from all of us. They would stop every so often while the kids caught up. We had the pleasure of them stopping near our house. When I say this, don't judge me. I thought the parents were WEARING COSTUMES. Nope, turns out there are some people around here that look like they are from the movie "The Hills Have Eyes." I wanted to take pictures, but I thought it would be mean. Instead I will just talk about them on here. Seriously, it was amazing. I will start taking more pictures. It would be worth you all thinking I am mean if you got to see some of the things I see.

4.  When the only costume choices left for your kids are adult costumes, designed to be worn to adult parties, STOP LETTING YOUR KIDS GO TRICK OR TREATING. I watched as some guy walked his daughter around in some sort of French Maid costume. She had to be around 14. I am assuming it was his daughter. He could have been her pimp. They got confused over the word "trick." It was uncomfortable seeing a 14 year old dressed that way, and I wanted to shield my husbands eyes.

      There were also TONS of cute little kids. I can't wait to take T-Money trick or treating. I think we will start next year when he/she can't even eat it. He/she will be dressed up as "baby that can eat candy." I will be dressed up as "lady that wants free candy." Hold the razor blades.