IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME...

Oh, yeah.  Guess what?  Guess what time of year it is?  Guess, guess, guess! It's that time of year when haters gonna hate and twitchers gonna twitch.  If you've stumbled across the Hallmark channel at all over the past weekend, then you know what I'm going to say:

IT'S OFFICIALLY THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY SEASON!

I have to hold myself back from setting up the tree and getting all the holiday goodies out, all the toys, all the decorations.  Seriously.  And I should be deeply ashamed of myself because my house still hasn't had its official fall cleaning.  The drapes and curtains need to be washed, the windows cleaned, the sills wiped down.  I definitely need to get that all done before bringing out the holiday gear.

All right, I'll totally fess up -- The air conditioners are still in the windows.  I rarely take them out before Halloween in case we get those lousy, humid, grossly sticky overnights, as we have off and on over the last few weeks and the last few Octobers.  Yes, I like to sleep in the ultimate comfort, especially with the hot flashes, so I keep those a/c units in until the first snowflakes fall.

But, folks, I will have the tree up soon.  Very soon.  I have a couple of target dates, but it will be within the next two weeks.  This means there's only one question left:

WHO'S WITH ME?

HALLOWEEN COUNTDOWN

I am a person of great optimism.  I know this because every Halloween, I expect trick-or-treaters to come to my house. 

Okay, so this year I don't carve the pumpkin and light a candle inside of it, but it's only because the store is out of pumpkins when I go this afternoon.  I have been out and about this Halloween, so I'm already wearing my black and gold spider web shirt, bright red nail polish, charcoal eye make-up, and black lip gloss.  Yes, I really am seen in public like this.

I have candy in a bowl -- not much, because I know there will be leftovers, so I make sure to have Reese's peanut butter cups for me and Kit-Kats for my son.  I have the light on, just the front light and not the kitchen light so kids will know which doorbell to ring.  In addition to my makeshift costume, I am wearing an air of optimism.

There are plenty of children in my neighborhood:  the landlord's kids out front,. the gaggle of kids a few houses over, and I know there are others because I see them stream off the school bus that I am often stuck behind in traffic on my way home from work.  I also know that they are aware of where my doorbell is because they're always ringing it to sell me something -- gift wrap, magazines, Girl Scout cookies...

So, I wait.  I wait from 5:00 until well past 7:00, when trick-or-treating is supposed to stop.  Just like every Halloween, I can count the number of kiddos on one hand.  I can count them on my feet ... with my socks on ... and shoes.  Just like every Halloween, nobody comes.

Nobody rings my doorbell; nobody reaches deep into the bowl for too many pieces of candy.  I keep my skull earrings in way past my regular bedtime to squeeze that last little bit out of the holiday.  I'll even get an extra hour of it later when I set the clocks back.  I'm just prolonging the inevitable, though.  I can extend Halloween 364 more days and it won't matter.  Still, no one will come.

It's okay, though.  I'm already planning my costume for next year because I am, after all, an eternal Halloween optimist.

TO DUNK OR NOT TO DUNK

There is very little in this world that beats out cookies and milk.  Truly.

The very best would have to be homemade chocolate chip cookies, the Toll House recipe, of course, with ice cold milk in a tall plastic cup.  Tonight, though, I just don't have the strength to bake, so I have to wing it.

Chips Ahoy cookies are the exact opposite of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, but sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do, and tonight is one of those times.  I have the little snack packets of cookies, so (hopefully) I'll eat only one pack with four cookies inside.

I'm not a dipper.  I never understood the concept of dunking a perfectly grand cookie into a perfectly flawless glass of milk.  The whole idea is to make the magic happen when the two collide on the palate, not when the cookie melts and crumbles into a cup of dairy liquid.  That just ruins an otherwise dandy cup of milk and trashes a once-edible cookie.  Dunking, for me, is just bad form.

I inhale the Chips Ahoy without hesitation, and the milk isn't far behind.  Truly, very little in the world better is than this.  Now, if there were just a way to prevent Chips Ahoy from becoming Hips OhBoy, I think I'd really be onto something.

FULL MOON MUSINGS

Full moon -- That means two things:  1. crazy dreams, and 2. restless sleep.  Yes, there is a difference.

Restless sleep is general agida caused by the moon.  Sometimes my sleep is interrupted by the moon shining so brightly that I awaken during the night thinking I've missed my alarm.  (Nope; just being a dumbass.)  Sometimes I'm so damn tired that I doze at my desk.  I have some days when I try to catnap at stop lights or while sitting on the potty tinkling or while standing at the sink washing dishes.  This condition goes into hyperdrive during full moon phases.  Decent sleep becomes elusive.

As for the crazy dreams, it's like I cannot shut off my brain.  All night my brain plays movies: I'm in the movies; I'm not in the movies; I know people in the dreams; I don't know the people in the dreams; my dreams are scary; my dreams are funny; my dreams have music (and I wake up with major earworms every day).  I always dream in color and I do not understand anyone who claims to dream in black and white.  How is that possible?  The full moon?  Dreams all night long, instantly upon sleep and continuing right up until I awaken.

This is all bad enough on regular days, but it's more pronounced during a full moon.  Thankfully, we're on the waning side of things, even if barely so.  Maybe in a week or so, I'll sleep.

DECADES DAY

We are still in the midst of Theme Week/Red Ribbon Week at school.  Today's theme: Put drugs in the past and dress as your favorite decade. I don't really have a favorite decade unless it's my personal favorite, which would probably be my twenties.  Of course, those days are far into the rear view mirror and this isn't about me, so I settle for whatever is in my closet.  I have tie-dye shirts and big sparkly Elton-John-type sunglasses, but I'm not really sure that's flashy enough.

My coworkers are besting me no matter what.  My neighbor in room 111 is wearing a wig and a red flapper dress.  She is so totally '20s.  Another coworker is wearing 80s spandex in neon brights.  I am completely trashed by my former teammate (now grade 6 -- traitor!) who dresses up superbly as Punky Brewster.

I go with something more sedate.  I decide to be mid-70s ... just past the Indian muslin shirt and embroidery phase but not quite out of the purple cotton print phase.  I grab a maxi-length sun dress, complete with the elastic band bust line, layer it over a purple shirt, and add in my army-green lace-up high-heeled Granny boots over tall socks.  I let the hair air-dry today, frizzing it up as much as I can as it goes -- not big like the 80s, though; I never could make that hair happen.  (We call that Methuen Hair because the Methuen girls used up enough hair spray to pollute entire continents.) I intend to add a wooden and silver beaded choker to the look, but I opt for giant gold hoop earrings, instead.  I figure I'm as good to go as I'll ever be.

My youngest teeters down the stairs to start his morning pre-work routine.  Half asleep, he looks at me wide-eyed.  "Jesuschrist," he gasps, "WHAT are you WEARING?"

I smile.  "It's Decades Day.  Do I look 70s enough?"

He frowns.  "Yeah, you look like you're about to take acid."

Excellent!  I guess I really have reached back to the 70s.  I give him a quick double-thumbs-up, grab my car keys and stuff myself and my giant maxi dress into the front seat of my small vehicle.  It's going to be a good day, and, if I avoid getting in an accident and having to go to the ER like this, it'll be a great day.

TUESDAY CLASS - A VERY SHORT STORY

Chapter #1
Once upon a time there was a Tuesday night education class at an old school that smelled bad.  I fell asleep.  The end.

Chapter #2
I am still asleep.  The end.

Chapter #3
The teacher came by our table to inspect our work.  I pretended to be awake, aware, and interested.  I am, however, still asleep.  The end.

Chapter #4
 Forty minutes of my life that I will never get back in addition to the wasted two and a half hours ... and that's just tonight ... that I will newer get back.  Fuck my life.  The end.


Chapter #5
Oh. Dear. Lord.  Save me; I'm drowning under words.  The end.

Chapter #6
The teacher read some vocabulary words, and she said, "Frig it!" but she really said, "Frigate."  Either way ... frigate.  The end.

Chapter #7
My coworker claims that we are being punked.  I agree.  The real end.

TEAM JERSEY DAY

Red Ribbon Week at school means we have theme days every day that tie into and support the war against drugs.  Our local towns have a huge heroin problem, and, among other things including tobacco and alcohol, we are trying to raise the students’ awareness.

Friday is a Halloween theme since the holiday falls on Saturday when we’re not in school.  The idea is to scare drugs from our school and our lives.  I have black lip gloss, dark eye shadow, and black Halloween-themed t-shirts.

Thursday is Put Drugs to Bed day, and the theme is for pajamas to be worn.  I don’t usually wear theme clothing on pajama day, but I will probably break into the sweats this time around.

Wednesday’s theme is Put Drugs in the Past, and we can dress up as our favorite decade.  The last time we had a decades day, I put on the tie-dye and the Janis Joplin glasses.  This time around, I might go for the Indian-style maxi dress, though, but still be living in the 70’s.

Tuesday is all about wearing school colors, green and gold, and I’ve got that one covered.  I have green jeans (yes, I know that sounds like a character from Captain Kangaroo) and several school-themed shirts to wear, or maybe I’ll just wear a color-appropriate shirt.

Monday the theme has to do with Teaming Up Against Drugs, and I can choose any team jersey I want to wear to school.  My first thought is to go raid the old town lacrosse jerseys that I keep in my closet.  I love those jerseys.  They’re blue and gold and just the right size.  Or I can choose to wear Red Sox gear or a Patriots jersey or a Bruins jersey.  I can raid my son’s closet and borrow any number of professional soccer team jerseys.  Heck, I think he even has a team China basketball jersey hiding somewhere in that room. 

He overhears me telling my sister on the phone that I have to find a sports jersey for school.  “Mom,” he calls down the stairs, “Wanna wear my college lacrosse jersey?  It’s the yellow one.”

Oh.  Oh my.  He knows I loved those yellow jerseys and cried a little bit when the team gave them up for the more standard (and boring and ugly and ordinary) white ones.  Of course I want to wear that jersey.  When am I ever going to get another offer so grand?

He brings the jersey down and carefully hands it over.  I peruse it and quickly realize one thing: I should be holding this jersey by one finger; this thing needs a good wash.  It can practically walk on its own.

Two hours later, the jersey is washed, dried, and hanging up on the back of the door awaiting Theme Day #1 for the week.  It may not be the most recognizable jersey, and it may not be a shirt of champions, but it surely feels that way to me today, and, luckily, it won’t be walking away from me on its own anymore. 

Besides, he was the starting goalie for much of his college career.  That jersey can deflect anything.  Knowing what kind of day I’m going to have (multiple meetings and freshly back after taking Friday off to travel), I’ll need all the deflection powers I can muster.