Top 10 Reasons Why I Love Halloween

10. Leaves: Halloween would not be Halloween without the fall season. It wouldn't have the same penache. The bright reds and golds of the leaves on the trees and ground. Classic. Plus if you're out trick-or-treating or otherwise cavorting about the crunchy noise fallen leaves make is the best!

9. Campy Films from Childhood: Seriously I can't pass them up. It's like at Christmas I have to watch a claymation piece. Some of my favorites are Hocus Pocus and Halloween Town.

8. Sense of Community: Call me a sap if you want but I love that on Halloween everyone gets involved. People are out with their kids or their friends. Or they are staying in and giving out goodies. Either way there is a warm and fuzzy element to Halloween that I ccan't resist.

7. Mystical Critters: Don't you just love how on this one night all the spooks and spectors make their appearance? I do. I love that suddenly there are witches flying on brooms, or vampires out for a bite. Like they just wait for Halloween to do it. But that seems to be the consesnus that they let their hair down on Halloween alone. More power to um for their patience I suppose.

6. Soundtrack of the Season: Two words...Monster Mash. That song always makes me ridiculously happy. I have a soundtrack full of Halloween songs. It has Little Red Riding Hood, Werewolf of London, and the purple people eater song on it. Good times. I feel like this is only appropriate at this time of year. I have to restrain myself the rest of the year though. Seriously.

5. Ghost Stories: Personally, I'm always up for a good ghost story even if the good ones scare me shitless. But they seem to have special potency on Halloween. There is this mysticism that rides the air on Halloween and a good story just soaks up that energy and sends it back to you ten-fold. If it can't give me shivers it a'int worth it!

4. Carving Pumpkins: This one is a family tradition. It sucks in college cause I haven't been able to carve pumpkins with my Mom for the past two years. That actually makes me really sad. But I love carving pumpkins. Ugh. Scraping out the pumpkin guts is always perfectly creepy with the stringey goo clinging to your wrists. Bleh. Awesome but still. And then we always buy those carving kits. So you get to do something really cool. And I like using the poking stick. I know I sound really mature right now, but Halloween has never been noted for its maturity.

3. Corney Jokes: Halloween is filled with the kind of jokes you find on a candy bar wrapper, which is quite naturally appropriate. My friends and I always had a rotation schedule on who got to tell which joke. We were cool like that. But I've come to really enjoy listening to little kids tell me lame jokes even if I just heard the same one two minutes ago. They have such unadulterated joy. It's contagious and I am open to the disease of laughter.

2. Candy: Ok so there was an epic mental smackdown going on in my head for the top spot. I'm still kind of wavering as I write but I have my reasons for putting free candy second. For one thing candy is not such an epic novelty that I can't walk down to the store and get it. That's the sad truth that keeps it from being number one. But it made it all the way to number two because it is free. Think about it, this is the one momment when your parents tell you it is okay to take candy from strangers. And you can do it in abundance. I always judge people based on what they give out. And you can be ostracized from a neighborhood if you don't leave your damn porch light on. I know, I've seen it happen. Kids are serious about there candy, but then again so am I.

1: Costumes: I always loved playing dress-up when I was a kid. And they gave me a holiday devoted to it. I adore planning costumes. I start way in advance and agonize over what I will be. After much debate I am being Autumn (the season. God help me I had to clarify this to my dad). Halloween gives you the opportunity to be whatever you want to be. It a professional day of pretend. When you're little it's about being a princess or a favorite cartoon character it's phenominally innocent. And then you hit puberty and it becomes a slut fest. Don't get me wrong I enjoy that aspect to a certain degree because I sure as hell don't walk around in vinyl or plastic mini dresses on the other days of the year. I remember one year I was a 50's girl with a poodle skirt and everything. I had a wig on because I had cut my hair really short that year; it looked a little weird. But we went up to this house and the woman tried to guess what we were. She takes one look at me and in this nasal expression of 'eureka' she says to me, "Oh I get it! You're a BOY dressing up as a GIRL!" She thought she was pretty funny. I didn't. It crushed my prepubescent ego hardcore. I got extra candy out of it though because she felt like a bad person...gee I wonder why? Needless to say I don't support wig usage on Halloween. Or any other day really. Such is life.

I hope you all have a fabulously haunting Halloween!

Fangirl

There is nothing cooler for me than being set loose in LA. Except perhaps winning the lottery and then being set loose so I can shop but I'll take what I can get. I got the amazing opportunity to leave school and go to Los Angeles for the Screenwriters Expo. Honestly people, if I were a chiwawa I'd be shaking with the excitement things like this bring me.

The dork in me happily says that I learned a lot and it was a wonderful experience. The rabid fangirl in me says to shut up and tell you about the good stuff. Which I shall because it is much jucier. In truth, I didn't even realize I had a fangirl attitude in me. I should have seen it though in the long sighs of Johnny Depp and the trivia hoarding of Director's movie secrets. So essentially, like the naive thing I am, I was unprepared for her hostile takeover when we reached the city of the stars.

I started out fairly normal. There is this woman named Pilar Alessanda whose instructional dvds we watched in screenwriting last year, so naturally I had to see her in real life. She was a much better speaker in person, very active. At the end of one of her seminars I ended up shyly walking up to her and asking for her autograph and a picture. I think I stunned the woman. She said that no one has ever asked her that before. I'm sure I was blushing. The scenario clearly called for a blush. So I got my picture and autograph and scuttled back to my seat feeling happy but bashful.

Yeah I don't know where the shy thing went because after that it was essentially out the door. A group of us went to the discussion panel  with the writing duo who our responsible for this summer's major blockbusters--Star Trek and the Transformers series. They were mostly talking about how they got started in the business and then they revealed that they had written the Hercules and Xena television shows back in the day. You have no idea to what level I was obsessed with those shows when I was younger. Xena in particular was one of those shows that I could not allow myself to miss, and was the only show my mom would let me stay up and watch. (Somehow Xena was appropriate but the Spice Girls were not which is a whole other rant). I'll admit I wanted their autographs to begin with, but more for my dad because he's a huge fan of those films. Nope they're mine. He can't have them. God help those imbeciles who stood in my way because I'm pretty sure I was fixing death glares on them. Enter rabid obsession.

Then my epic momment. I still can't get over it because I can't freaking believe. This is what makes me a fangirl. I got John Cleese's autograph! But I will take it one step farther and say I got to touch his hand and he spoke! Pardon me while I pass out. This man is brillant. He knows comedy like no other. And comedy can be such a touchy thing. If you don't know who John Cleese is stop reading this blog and crawl out from under your rock (how are you getting internet anyway?).  He's a Python for one thing, and he's a phenominal actor as well as a writer. And I got his autograph, damnit! I never thought I would get it. There were so many people crushing around to get to him. And then the were leading him away and I thought it was over. But he came out into the corridor that we were waiting in and the fangirl took over. She rushed up all big shiney eyes and thrust my notebook into John Cleese's hands. And he signed it so casually, said something polite, and kept walking. Now everytime I look at my notebook I get this giddy sensation--it's the fangirl rearing her starry-eyed head--and I just feel so cool.

That in and of itself is enough celebrity interaction to last me for a good long while. But not too long my notebook needs more signatures.

(Sorry for thequality of the picture it's the best I can do)

The Loss

Last week I went on quite the tangent on how sometimes it is metaphorically important to kill a friendship. Today I am faced with the necessity of killing a true friend. Before anyone freaks out I am talking about my dog. His name is Elijah, Eli for short, and he is my nine-year-old schnauzer.

I’ve known for almost a year now that Eli has been sick, and we had a limited time left with him. All I know is that day has finally come. As I write this, my mom is taking Eli to be put to sleep. I can’t get over how peaceful that little phrase sounds. When I was little and a pet needed to be put down, my dad would always take me to do something fun like go to the zoo. This didn’t prevent me from realizing that my pet was dead. I didn’t have any delusions about what happened, but the trips would always soften the blow.

This is the first time that I’ve been old enough to really grieve and regret when we need to put a pet down (I’m not counting the random death of my other dog Zeke last year). Originally I wanted to go and be there for Mom, because Eli is her dog. But I just couldn’t do it. I knew I couldn’t look into his big, sad, brown eyes as they stuck a needle in his side and watch the life drain out of them.

I just can’t reconcile this sickly dog with the little puppy I brought home nine years ago. I don’t know where the time went, as cliché as that sounds! I know we’re doing the right thing, but that doesn’t make it any better. Eli is essentially starving because he can’t keep food down. That poor dog was essentially doomed anyway. I mean, the vet said that first his kidneys were failing, then that Eli might have cancer. We just couldn’t let him suffer any more and I know this needs to be done, but my heart feels so hollow. Eli and I essentially grew up together and I just can’t handle that he’s going to the long sleep.

And You, Friend?

Lately I’ve been considering the idea of friendship. Brooding is probably the more accurate term rather than considering. Recent events have me questioning the concept of friendship. What is it? Does it truly exist? How do you kill it, if it truly lives? And if you kill it does that make you a bad person?

I always hear about these people who’ve been friends since grade school. And it’s not on-again, off-again friendships these people are claiming but the hard-core bff, bound by blood (metaphorically and sometimes literally) sort of friendship. I can maybe claim one or two off those friendships, but for the most part I’m stumped.

Which leads to my big question: are high school friendships the real deal, or are they just something we cultivate to make the years less troublesome? Based on the majority of my relationships with friends and acquaintances now, I suppose it is the latter. Some may disagree, claiming their friendships are for life. But I would love to see these people in ten years and if they are still together. Call me a cynic but I doubt it.

My freshman year I took health class, just to get it out of the way. Of course there was a chapter on healthy (and not so healthy) relationships. The teacher droned on about how each of has different circles of friendship. We’re in the center and each ring around us is a different level or circle of friendship. Best friends or confidantes are the smallest and closest to us, good friends in the next smallest, acquaintances in a bigger ring, etc. the base idea is that we have fewer best friends and more “average” friends, and that sometimes these people change circles over time. I’m not arguing with the idea, it’s quite clever, but I’ve heard it before in Dante’s Inferno.

Think about it. Our friendship circles are basically levels of hell. The ones on the outer rims have committed minor friendship crimes or like the atheists they just don’t know you too well. The closer you get the worse it is. Your good friends maybe dig on you a little or “forgot” to invite you to something. Now your best friends are the highest level of betrayal simple because you trust them. The flames of Friendship Hell are hotter here in this circle because you just don’t see the knife coming. It will though, without fail.

By writing this I’m essentially cementing my cynic status, and I’m sure some of you who are reading this are rolling your eyes or saying something like, “That’s just not true.” But when you leave this blog, your thoughts are going to get to you, and you’ll realize (unfortunately) that I’m right. Normally I would consider myself a loyalist where friendship is concerned; I’m like a dog, defending without question. But sometimes other bitches bite back.

Obviously I’m enraged by something a “friend” of mine has done. I won’t bother describing the event because it is petty and unworthy mentioning in and of itself. What is of note is that this incident is one in a ridiculously long line of friendship travesties, and each one hurts more than the next. This is a girl for whom I’ve kept secrets, defended against slander, and weathered various storms with. I know I am not faultless in this friendship but I still feel betrayed. The question: Why do I keep her around? The answer: I tolerate her betrayals because of the hell we had to walk through to get to this point, and it forms a twisted bond.

I think more than anything the keep word in that sentence is tolerate. Returning to my original thought, friendship is merely a mutual tolerance of another person’s flaws. The closer you are with a person, the better you tolerate them. Sometimes your patience snaps with a person. Returning to my dog, master analogy, you can only kick a dog so many times before it fights back. I think we reach a point in our friendships where we have to fight back, and not in petty ways but in major ways.

Can a friendship be killed? Of course it can. Most deaths occur when your patience snaps, and you no longer tolerate their BS. Killing a friendship doesn’t make you a bad person it makes you a human; a human with emotions and most importantly a human with limits. My patience has about snapped, and I’m ready to pull the knife out of my back and kill this friendship, which is damn shame. I’d like to think that I stuck with this girl so long because ours was a friendship that lasts. But I’m beginning to think those friendships just don’t exist. I hope they do, but I also hope to see a unicorn and a pot of gold at the end of my rainbow.

How I Spent My Saturday

I am not a morning person by any stretch of the phrase. So when my mother asked me to get up at five forty-five a.m. on a Saturday to go to an estate sale with her, I asked what I was going to get out of it. Greedy, I know, but when it’s that early in the morning I need some form of incentive.

Mom does this every once in a while—ask me to get up at an un-godly hour of the day. And it’s almost always for an estate sale. You see my mother has been trying to amass enough antiques and knick-knacks to start up a booth in the South County Antique Mall. It’s always been something she wanted to do, but she truly didn’t consider it until college was looming in front of us.

My Mom and I are really close, closer than your average teenager and their mother. I have no doubt that it will be excruciating on the both of us when I leave. I’ll have a college campus to keep me semi-occupied at the very least, and now Mom decided she was going to live her dream.

I’ve been very supportive from the get go and have constantly urged her forward. Admittedly, my urging got a little more forceful when our living room was piled high with collectables, but I have always wanted her to succeed in this. Finally she took the plunge and got a booth of her own as of October first.

So this weekend I was being recruited to help stock the booth, but before that could happen we had yet another choice estate sale to go to. I’ve only been on one or two estate raids (probably because of my grumbling). The woman who has run them is named Dottie. I like Dottie—even if she is part of the reason my butt is being dragged up so early—because she’s got spunk. She’s also really good to dealers like my mom.

My job as co-raider of the estate sale is to get what my mom wants. Mom tells me what she is looking for and I go get it—like a terrier. Despite the fact that I am incredibly cranky, I get the items in question quickly (I even get my own little basket). I think the other reason my mom brings me along is people seem to be irrationally afraid of teenagers, especially some of the older people. Not all of them mind you, some of the little old ladies chat my ear off as I grab the goodies I’m supposed to nab; they are so sweet I can’t help but smile and converse back, even at this early hour.

Other people seem to be afraid of my tenacity or perhaps it is my growling demeanor (either way I’m still a terrier). They give me wide-eyed looks or they give me lots of personal space. It’s as if they’re saying, “Oh God a teenager! Head for the hills before it slays us!” This happens particularly when Mom wants to ask about a price and I am to stand guard over said object. So I stand, arms crossed, over the object; in this case a turquoise chair and glare at anything that comes within five feet of me like a good little pup. I think it is hilarious that people scurry away from me when I do this! I mean, for the love of God I’m a five-foot two blonde pipsqueak, who weighs about one hundred and five pounds. I am not intimidating. But apparently my bouncer stance is quite off-putting.

Anyway, Mom doesn’t find the price of the turquoise chair to her liking and we head off with our items, promising to come back at noon when Dottie drops the prices. Next we make a run to the house and gather more stock items. Boxes of silver, depression era glass, and Halloween decorations are piled into the back of our CRV, as well as a few hatboxes and two chairs that we bought at the estate sale. We also slide in supplies for making tags, and cleaning supplies so I can polish the furniture (I am a multi purpose tool). Even after we fill the car Mom says it will take another trip to get the booth stocked.

Let me just take a moment to mention how immensely proud of my mother I am. I really admire that she’s going after her long time dream. I know she’s scared, but I keep telling her that she’ll do fine. I know she will because this is what she loves to do—there is no way she can fail. I believe in my mom’s success but more importantly I just want her to have fun.

All of this is being discussed on the way to the Antique Mall. I can tell how nervous Mom is by the way she’s gripping the steering wheel. We finally get there and start unloading the chairs onto a cart we snagged from the back room. Mom leads me through the street-like rows that compose the quaint little mall to her booth. It’s a striking blue-green color she tells me is called Lilly Creek. The only other items there are a pink china hutch and a charmingly worn mantle that Mom purchased for display purposes.

I get to work polishing the two chairs and when I’m done the booth carries the faint aroma of the cedar polish I used. I help Mom unload her products and start arranging decorations. I place a white faux pumpkin topped with a raven that I have affectionately named Fred on the mantle, and a smiling gourd goes on top of the pink hutch. Soon I’m punching holes in tags and tying them to silver pitchers, and paintings.

A couple of hours later we return to the estate sale and buy the gorgeous turquoise chair for a marked down price. Mom’s eyes shine with glee at her acquisition, and I’m just happy because she is. Again we head home to stock up on more decorations and filler items. Before we go back to the mall I make Mom uphold her end of the estate sale bargain—she has to take me to the used bookstore and buy me a McFlurry. For some reason the time it takes to make good on the bargain feels like a nanosecond, and I’m excited to get back to Mom’s booth—I’m just so darn proud of her!

Once again the car seems to be the place for doubts. Mom bites her lip and asks me, “What if I don’t sell anything?” I tell her it will never happen, and reassure her that she has good taste that people will respond to. We return to the mall and grab the items from our trunk. Winding our way through the alleyways of the mall I stop once we enter Mom’s booth. I look around askance at the Lilly Creek walls and remark that something is different. It’s like a game of Where’s Waldo.

I notice the large silver pitcher has been moved, and Mom says two vases were set down differently. I thought that might have been it, but then I see it—the blank space that used to hold a picture of a rustic farmhouse. I grab my Mom and whisper in her ear, “You sold something! You sold something!” She looks around to where I’m pointing and has the world in her smile. Seeing her so excited and tickled from something so small was so pleasant and heartwarming. Mom had a secret smile on her face for the rest of the day as she draped doilies and placed the new turquoise chair in a place of honor. She was just so happy that she sold something and made a profit, and I was just so happy to be a part of her experience.

At the end of the day being dragged up at five in the morning was worth it to see Mom smile. Seeing how wonderful of a job she did on her first day made me think that we would both be okay. I’m proud of the booth my mom put up, but more importantly I’m proud of my mother.