Oct 31, 2008
Oct 29, 2008
Oct 23, 2008
Oct 21, 2008
when it comes to Halloween Costumes.
It's always the same variation. Year after year - when all my kid ever wanted to be was . . . a hot dog with mustard -no relish. It's still his dream. Someday, I tell him . . . someday. . .
Oct 19, 2008
Oct 16, 2008
Oct 15, 2008
The Frosted Mini -Wheats were an unusual treat as were the Apple Crisps on the upper left. Someone was way ahead of their time when it came to handing out healthy snacks. All the candy in the lower left side of the picture was for trading, especially the suckers that were just like the ones the doctor handed out when I was a kid . . . the kind with the loop handle so you didn't hurt yourself if you fell while eating your lollipop. That little loop was supposed to act like a miniature airbag as your face met the concrete.
Jellybeans were also low on the list. Those were for Easter and seemed like an odd choice for Halloween candy especially if they were black and orange which meant that one of them was licorice flavor. . . which is pretty much the grossest flavor in all the land. The chocolate was golden and a very valuable trading commodity. Too bad we can't use it to boost the economy. I'll trade all my M&M's for your country and throw in a Snickers Bar in good faith. I think I just solved all of our problems.
Word on the street was that the guy two streets over who drove a "Roach Coach" was handing out full size candy bars. There was a line forming at the first hint of dusk just to get one of those prized candies. A full size candy bar meant that you hit the Halloween Jackpot. It gave you bragging rights for weeks at school. A kids popularity and wealth at school the next day was determined by the size of the candy bars they received on Halloween night. You came from a rich neighborhood if you scored more than one. Giant Tootsie Rolls did not count. Nobody would admit getting one of those. They looked too much like, you - know - what.
One thing missing from this picture is the homemade "Popcorn Ball" our neighbor, Mrs. Jones made for the neighborhood kids every year. She would hand them out like they were the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Corn syrup was the main ingredient in Mrs. Jones scrumptious special treats. My teeth stuck together like they were in a vice-grip after the first bite and it took until Thanksgiving to separate them. My guess is that she made them so she could have a moments peace from all the kids on the block screaming like wild banshees up and down the street every Saturday morning while we played. If you saved the Popcorn Ball long enough it made an excellent baseball. If it was hot outside the ball would stick to the bat like flypaper. Ah, memories.
Do you remember what your favorite Halloween Candy was when you were a kid?
Oct 13, 2008
That's her. She just read the sign on our pantry door. I told her to come back tomorrow, or when she was 21...whichever comes first.
It'll be a while.
I love that sign . . . everyone just misses free beer by one day. If they say they will come back tomorrow for the free beer, I forget to answer the door.
These are her friends. They looked a little concerned about the food.
This cool cat is married to my favorite sister. I kinda like him a lot too. To quote one of the other guests at the party when he saw him, "Look at that guy! That shirt and that hat says - I came to party!" Actually the guy threw in a few swear words that I can't write here for emphasis on just how cool my brother-in-law is. Security showed him the way out. Party on.
It was a quiet little gathering until . . .
. . . the beer pong tournament started. Someone swiped all the food off the counter when I wasn't looking and brought out the plastic cups and ping pong balls. I wiped the floor with the competition. I was the champ. The winner. The victor. Number one. Numero uno.
I don't even like beer.
But, if you come back tomorrow, it's free!
Oct 9, 2008
Oct 7, 2008
Meet Belle. Not her real name. But it is what her aunt calls her.
I call her, " Hey, You!" Not really. I don't do that. Most of the time. Never. Sometimes.
Oct 2, 2008
Oct 1, 2008
I didn't like doing either. I thought I had been born into the wrong family and was Royalty. I waited years for the Queen of England or any titled person to come and get me out of my suburban neighborhood. The Queen must have lost the directions I sent to Buckingham Palace. I told my mother I couldn't have dishpan hands when they came to get me. I had to be presentable and would rather practice taking tea and eating crumpets on Saturdays. Instead I had to wipe the coffee cake crumbs off the table and throw away the Lipton Tea bags resting in the saucers.
My house jobs consisted of cleaning my room - and cleaning my room - and cleaning my room. Then after I cleaned my room - and if it wasn't Sunday already - I was supposed to empty all the trash cans in the house and put away all the canned goods in the pantry. One time I took all the labels off the canned goods. I thought it would be fun to guess which can was Campbell's Mushroom Soup and which can was Hormel Chili. We ate some strange combinations for a while after that. I always pretended to love the mystery meals, but I never took the labels off again. Especially after we had sardines, canned asparagus spears and waffles for dinner one night. Not everything tastes good on a waffle. I know that to be a fact. Trust me on that one.
One particular Saturday I rushed through cleaning my room which meant that I threw everything into the closet and slammed the door shut. I promised one of my sister's all of my allowance if she would take care of the rest. I took out all the trash and tossed the canned goods in the cupboard faster than a grocery store clerk could do it. Then I went back to my room to check on my sister to make sure she wasn't slacking off and to order her around because it was fun. I was showing my royal side to her. I also needed to get dressed to go outside and help my dad. I put on my best party dress which happened to be a granny gown with an appliqued rooster on the chest and some patent leather Mary Jane's and my best white frilly dress socks. I added some short white gloves, glanced in the mirror with approval and pranced outside. I sat on a large rock with my hands folded in my lap and watched as my dad sweat buckets while he raked the leaves in the yard. He glanced up after a few short minutes, wiped the sweat from his eyes and said, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I answered, "Waiting for the Queen." My dad stared at me for a moment and said, "Good. We could use some more help around here. Let me know when she gets here and in the meantime make yourself useful and go get me a beer."
. . . the end.