CARVIN' PUMPKINS LIKE THE JACK-O PROS

Ok, so maybe that's a bit of an over-statement. I know the real pumpkin carvers do a much better job, but I can tell you they don't have any more fun than we did tonight!

We met Katherine and Steve (Mark's sister and her husband) at Mark's mom's house tonight and had some fun with the second annual Newland pumpkin-carving extravaganza. Photographing them proved a bit tricky, but I think they turned out pretty good for people who do it once a year.

From left to right, these are:

• Katherine's "ghost in the window"
  
• Mark's "Elmo"
  
• Steve's "googly-eyed jack-o'lantern"
  
• My "Halloween cat on a broom" (shut up, Mikey G!)
  

Diane baked apple dumplings and Katherine made caramel apples, and after we enjoyed the Fall treats, we got down to the serious business of gutting pumpkins. We even roasted the pumpkin seeds! Does that sound like some good, wholesome Autumn fun or what?

I thought Katherine had quite an advantage over the rest of us, considering she uses a scalpel everyday-- but I think she would tell you it's easier in the ER than it is with a $4 plastic carving tool from Walmart! And Steve's super-creative, being a Marketing Veep for Wrigley... he made quick work of his piece, and so did Mark-- and those two were working with the largest pumpkins.

Beatrice (who is a year and a half old) loves-loves-loves Elmo... they practically keep the Elmo DVD looped all day, because as soon as it goes off she wants it on again. She chants "Elmo" all throughout her waking hours, and Katherine says she even rolls over in the middle of the night and says "Elmo" in her sleep! So Uncle Mark knew exactly what he wanted to make for his special girl. You should've seen her face when he lit the candle and she realized what it was... her eyes got wide, she looked around at everyone, pointed to it and exclaimed, "Elmo!" She then walked up to it, touched it with the tip of her finger, quickly drew her hand back and said again, "Elmo!!!" It was worth every goopy minute of scooping pumpkin guts, just to get that reaction!

We had initially planned a "carve-off" of sorts, to see whose Jack-O skills would prove them tonight's winner, but once we got a load of Uncle Mark's Elmo, all bets were off. There's no competing with that!

If you want to check out how the pros really do it, check out the Pumpkin Gutter's website. This guy is incredible! Sounds dorky, but he makes me want to buy a dozen pumpkins and a Dremel. Be sure to read his FAQ page, because he's got the most fantastically snarky comebacks to some totally ridiculous questions!

I'm leaving town for a few days, so in case I don't get back here between now and the 31st, Happy Halloween, everyone!

"YOU" IS REALLY AN "I"

It’s been seven years since you confirmed the affair, said "I saw my attorney today" and found yourself starting all over as a single girl... and it's been six years since you started dating the guy you thought you’d have some fun with for a little while, and you realize that somewhere in the mix he became your best friend so that it's hard to imagine you without him…

It’s been fifteen years since you took that fresh-out-of-college job because you just needed someplace to start, and now you've picked out a minor kitchen appliance from a catalog to commemorate the anniversary of the "starter job"…

It’s been nine months since you started your last diet, and in that time you’ve lost 27 lbs and gained back 24— and as you ponder how it is that you look heavier now than you did before, you try not to worry because you know you’ll start again on Monday… You start again every Monday...

You have one year, nine months and twenty-two days to go until you turn forty, but who’s counting?

You feel like you’re finally in control of your life, but it doesn’t feel quite as gratifying as you imagined it would, nor as exciting as it did when you flew by the seat of your pants…

You hope that things will take a turn, but instead of accelerating toward the turn, you pull the covers up under your chin, roll over and hope that when you awake in the morning, you’re just magically there-- wherever it is that you’re supposed to be; you don’t know the place, but you’ll probably recognize it when you get there…

You wonder what it would be like to have to get up early on a Saturday morning to get the kids to soccer practice, but deep down you’re glad you get to sleep in…

You feel a bit faulty, because you secretly think that, as a 38-year woman, you’re supposed to have {and want} a husband and children and grown-up responsibilities, and you wonder how the lack of those things in your life shapes others’ perceptions of you…

You think about your grandparents-- and even your parents-- and you know that they won’t always be around, so it makes you feel guilty for not spending more time or staying in closer contact with them now, today, while you have the chance, and you know you will look at this as a lost opportunity one of these days…

You wonder how you got to be middle-aged, when you still feel like you’re 26 in your head and then you whisper a little thank you for Botox, because few things in life suck as much as forehead wrinkles…

You wish you had the verve you once had, and that you used that energy for great adventure, spontaneity, a consistent workout regimen, self-improvement and self-actualization instead of squandering the meager amount you do have on ebaying, trash tv and endless hours of worrying about your weight and whether others are judging you for the size you are…

You plan to be spontaneous, so you’ll put it on your to-do list... for next week, maybe, or the week after that... but it will probably wind up like most other things on your to-do list...

You despise the procrastinating you’re so prone to, and you wonder why you don’t just get off your ever-expanding duff and make the changes you need to make, instead of blogging your fingers to the bone about it…

The holidays are coming up and you recall that the average person gains eight pounds between Thanksgiving and New Years… You wonder if you might possibly have the willpower to join a gym now and actually go while everyone else is eating dressing and gravy and pumpkin pie…

You wish you could remember the dreams you had for yourself {and who you would be} when you were young, that way the path might be a little clearer… because you can’t really remember who you’re supposed to be, you just know that it’s not exactly who you are— well, maybe it’s kinda who you are, but only a partially-realized version of it…

You tell yourself it’s ok not to have it all figured out, because maybe no one does even though some people appear to... but you know that you’ll only quasi-believe it’s ok for a little while and tomorrow you’ll have to remind yourself again…

You realize you’ve been in a weird funk all day and that most of these ramblings are little more than Tampax-induced anxieties about life and love and living, and they will {gratefully} be gone next week… but they'll creep back in the same time next month, unless you can get the cobwebs out of your head and find some clarity between now and then...

You read back over all the words you just typed and realize that every single “you” is really an “I”… but that’s ok. You’re the only you there is.

TRICK-OR-TREATING: THE POLITICALLY-CORRECT WAY

So I’ve been all kinds of fired-up over the political situation the past couple of weeks, pretty much ever since “Joe the Plumber” blew the lid off “Barry the Lib’s” plan for destroying the American Dream.

This “spreading the wealth around is good for everybody” talk really sticks in my craw. I have to say, I don’t think letting the government decide how to spread around my hard-earned dollars is good for me at all. It might be good for under-employed deadbeats, those who don’t work at all, or those who don’t feel the need to pay taxes like the rest of us— but I work hard for my living, and I’d like to keep it just that: “my living”, not mine plus someone else’s. And I don’t want a slice of anyone else’s pie, either. Frankly, I’m proud of my modest little house (which, by the way, was based on my actual monthly budget and not whatever maximum loan amount I could’ve been approved for). And I take pride in the fact that, as a single female, I’m able to do it on my own. I feel very fortunate to have had parents who were willing to make personal sacrifices and fund my education so I could accomplish these things without handouts from them or from the government. But most of all, I feel so blessed to live in a country where these opportunities and freedoms are possible for everyone.

And when I take a step back and try to reconcile all that's going on with the American economy versus my personal convictions, it pretty much boils down to this: I’m still really chapped over the $700 billion in bail-out bucks that We, the People just forked over to the Treasury Secretary to stem a hemorrhage that was caused by little more than sheer self-serving avarice. Does anyone else feel that way, like We, the People just took it up the Fannie Mae? Where’s the personal accountability, on the part of individuals as well as our great nation's leaders and the government officials who were put in office by We, the People? And aren't the media supposed to suppress their own personal bias long enough to hold the politicians accountable on behalf of We, the People? And why aren’t We, the People from the all the big, square states in the middle of this great country more pissed off? It's up to We, the People to first be accountable and prudent ourselves, and in turn to expect it from those who represent us.

So I’ve got all of these feelings about the economy swirling around in my head… and I’m trying to balance it out with happy thoughts— I mean, Halloween is coming up, and that’s always fun, right? And these two opposing forces keep butting up against each other in my head, and suddenly I had a brainstorm…

Let’s consider it a little pre-election day experiment. Why don't we take Barry O’s “spread the wealth around” concept and give it a kind of a test-drive? You know, in a real-life practical situation that we’re all familiar with, just a few days ahead of going to the polls. Let’s do our trick-or-treating in a politically-correct fashion this year!

See, the kiddos will get all dressed up in their costumes, wait for it to get dark outside, approach all the houses with porch lights on, exclaim “Trick or treat!”, hold out their buckets and collect their goodies. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Then, at the end of the night— instead of returning home and dumping their hard-earned till onto the kitchen table to examine it with delight and then dig in— let’s have the government collect all the trick-or-treaters’ goodies and determine how they should best be split up. Mind you, some of the recipients won’t have taken the time to don a costume nor ring a single doorbell… but it’s good to spread things around, remember? Barry O said so. So whether you participated or not, you’ll get what Barry O and his ghoulish peeps deem your fair share.

Oh, yeah… and did I mention that you’ll get hit in the wallet for it all next April? That's the trick that goes with the treat.

Now, I don’t know about you kids, but I want to keep my candy in my own bucket, thank you.

And by the way, you better keep your mits off the Sour Patch Kids candy and the Cry Baby gum— I’m calling dibs on those! I'm afraid I may have a taste for them after January 20.

OK, NOW, I'M REALLY SCARED!

So, there are some folks in my neighborhood who really went all out with their Halloween decorations this year... You can't really tell it from the photo I snapped out the window of the Hoopty-Wagon on my way home from work tonight, but these people are loaded for bear: grave markers all over the yard... a skeleton hanging from a branch of the Bradford Pear... a giant inflatable spider that glows... ghosts, ghouls and some creepy skull thing arched over the entry-way. And then they took it a step further this weekend, and added the big, blue sign in the forefront.

Some people obviously prefer tricks over treats this Halloween.

THE AMAZING LACTATING CAT-CUSHION

With three cats in the house, there's quite a shortage of cat beds... and frankly, these days they don't like each other well enough to bed down together, anyway. They're still feeling snarky about the arrival of Smidge. So the Princess Bed, which was formerly Spencer's domain, had become a pretty hot territory-- a sort of status symbol. Whichever one seized control of it, at any given time, had obtained the primo spot; the other two just had to "suck it up" and find someplace else to crash. And the big girls would find themselves sucking it up a lot, because Smidge has assumed the Alpha role around here. Cats sleep like 18 hours a day, anyway... and when they're 12 years old, weigh about 17 lbs, and are in a state of depressed denial because of an obnoxious little brother they never wanted, they really put out some serious zzz's. So when you walk through my house, you get the full Crazy Cat Lady effect: cat bodies splayed out everywhere, on every stick of furniture in the house, it seems.

Mark was at Wal-Mart the other night and saw this little cushion he thought the kitty-friends would like. It's not even made for cats, specifically... it's just fluffy and furry and feels really soft (like those chenille scarves that were popular a couple years back). In fact, it kinda feels... well, like a cat. And though they avoided it for the first two or three days, its "foreign object" status finally faded and they've really taken to it. Now, they jockey for position on both the Princess Bed and the new cushion. But The Smidge has developed a particularly "unusual attachment" to it.

I guess you'd say it's become a surrogate mother. And considering how he got rudely snatched from his mama at about six weeks of age, I can see where he might be missing something. The cushion fills a void.

Get a load of Exhibit A... and be sure to turn up your speakers.

Now, let me point out that this clip hasn't been enhanced at all. Not one bit. Those clicking sounds you hear... those are Smidge sucking the beloved pillow. And notice the kneading: A heckuva bread-maker is this little guy. He started doing this on Sunday, and has done it every day since. I couldn't believe my eyes-- or ears-- at first. But after a few minutes, once he's satisfied, he stretches right out and drifts off to Lunesta-land. He loves this thing!

Who knew Wal-Mart sold a pillow with invisible cat nipples?

LATE NIGHT INFOMERCIALS: THE INSOMNIAC'S BFF

Since I'm wired for sound and fully awake well past 1 AM most nights, I see more than my fair share of infomercials. I know them all: Vince the ShamWow pitch man... 120-year old Jack LaLanne and his amazing juicer... Ron "Set It And Forget It" Popeil... Leza Gibbons with her Sheer Cover mineral make-up... Cindy Crawford and Meaningful Beauty with that special enzyme from those ridiculous french cantaloupes... the [fill in the blank] "they" don't want you to know about until whistle-blower Kevin Trudeau saves you from it with his latest book... myriad celebs hawking ProActive Solution... the greasy colon-cleanse guy that looks like John Waters and talks about how long our poop should be... and of course the uber-obnoxious Billy Mayes with ten thousand things he'll be glad to tell you about in his high-pitched carney voice. Yes, these are my late-night companions. We have a clandestine rendezvous most evenings after the rest of the world is fast asleep.

So, you see, it was only a matter of time until Kathy Mitchell used her grandmotherly wiles to charm me into buying the GT Xpress 101.

Now, before I tell you about this little gizmo, a disclaimer: Any medical doctor will tell you that the sleep-deprived suffer from severely impaired judgment. So technically, I'm probably not liable for my actions... But anyway, the GT Xpress arrived a couple days ago (along with the advertised spatula, shaker bottle and book of 101 recipes). And I have to admit I was a little disappointed at first. It smelled kinda funny, and it was really cheap-looking, lightweight and very tiny. For some reason, I thought it would be a big strapping unitasker, to use Alton Brown's word. But nevertheless, I was excited to try it out. And try it out I did.

In seven minutes, I had worked culinary magic: asparagus beef roll-ups. Now, they aren't much to look at... but they were actually pretty darn tasty. And anytime I can get a low-carb meal in under ten minutes, there's a shimmer of hope that I might actually use my kitchen for more than pouring myself a diet coke or a bowl of cereal. In fact, there might be hope for me to get back on track with the dieting. I started (and ended) the MediFast plan last week... it was over in a hot second, so I didn't have time to even blog about it. But suffice it to say, I have a kazillion boxes of MediFast "meals" that will probably end up on Ebay before the weekend is over. And I should probably list my leftover NutriSystem food, too-- which brings me full circle and essentially to the point I'm trying to make here: I buy the useless crap I see on TV.

I'm highly susceptible to gimmicks in the wee hours of the morning. But so far, the GT Xpress 101 is ok in my book. It may go the way of the barely used Jack LaLanne juicer that's sitting on my pantry shelf... or it may end up like Billy Mayes' Samurai Shark in my drawer or his Hercules Hooks in my utility room cabinet... or perhaps it will be as lonely as my collection of The Firm hand weights and DVDs. But so far, I think I have a new favorite, by way of introduction from my late night cronies.

Well, my computer says it's 1:39 AM and you know what that means. Vince, Cindy, Jack, Kevin, Leza and the gang are all waiting for me. And I'm sure I probably need some sublingual B-12 tablets or a Pet-icure device or a Tony Little Gazelle... I just don't know it yet. Better grab my debit card and get to bed now.

MORE SHOEPHORIA WITH STEVE...

Alrighty, so my good friend Mikey G is always uncannily perceptive in pointing out my blogging trends. And he's right. Not only did I get mired down in Smidgey tales all summer, but I also have a definite foot theme goin' on here. Heck, my first post was New Shoes: Sex In a Box. There's no denying it... I'm guilty. And to adapt a line from one of my favorite Paul McCartney songs, some people wanna fill the world with silly foot blogs. What's wrong with that? I need to know... 'cause here I go... again. ha! But seriously, I just have to share the latest in the Stevi Shoe Slut Saga. Apparently, when I posted about his recent e-mails, I conjured him up.

So Brittnee and I were sitting in a meeting room this afternoon, having just wrapped up a conference call, when my PDA ding'd... and what little gem was waiting in my e-mail? Another message from Steve. And nine (count them...1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9) attached photos! I had surmised in my last blog that, by not selling him the Via Spigas, I had cut myself out of some fantastic future photos... but nope! Today, I hit the mother lode!

The subject line read, "Miss Stevi in Miss Lisa's Patent Sandals‏" and this message followed: "How do you like my sexy strappy black patent high heel sandals I got from Miss Lisa, sweetheart? Oh yes, Stevi sure knows sexy heels for sure..... got a bad case of "blue balls", guys???? Miss Stevi is a shoe and foot tease!!! Kisses!!!!!!!!!"

And the photos? Well, they're priceless, of course. Here's a little sample:

Do you love it?? This last shot delivers like Domino's... it's like he's giving himself a thumbs-up (but I guess it would technically be a "toe-up"). I'll second that, Steve! Funny!! I mean, Dude is wearing jorts! JORTS! And stockings. With. His. Heels. Frankly, you gotta sympathize with someone who has to cope with unpainted toes (well, and hairy legs) with strappy sandals... those are two bigtime sexy-killers that have to smart just a little. But you know, I think he feels pretty, anyway! Downright shoephoric, in fact! :-)

ADVENTURES IN CYBER-SALES

Hello again, friends... it's been a while. I've missed all of you and I'm glad to be back a-bloggin'. I want everyone to know that I haven't been totally absent from the virtual world... nay, only from Blogger. I've been engaged in other online pursuits. Get your head out of the gutter... not those kinds of online pursuits. Sheesh.

Yes, Mannonj has been alive and well on Ebay lately. Or as I like to call it now, The Freak Store.

Still focused on the "get out of debt" resolution from New Years, I decided that putting some of my unused stuff up for auction would kill two birds with one stone: Clean out the closets and make a little cash. Make that three birds-- I'm also trying to rebound my feedback score, since that you-know-what, Diva, screwed me over a few months ago. But the part I didn't bargain for was that I would essentially be "moonlighting" on Ebay... I listed about 40 items and it darn-near turned into a part-time job! Now, that's mainly my own doing because I can't just write a simple description of an auction item... kinda like I can't write a short blog-entry. It's the advertiser-slash-literary-wannabe in me.

The other part I didn't bargain for was the freak clientele I would attract. Now, I've sold online before, but on a very limited basis and only to quasi-normal folks. Remember, I'm the redneck who sold a Z-28 on there last year (I still think that selling a Camaro on Ebay is the ultimate punchline to a Foxworthy joke!) But this time, I got a real taste of "the online community". And admittedly, I'm a magnet for all the weirdness in the universe, as you know-- but this is proof that it doesn't have to be in the literal, physical world. No. Apparently, I have the power to attract crazies in the virtual world as well. Good thing I never hit e-Harmony or Match.com... I probably wouldn't be alive to type these words.

Ok, so let me start by telling you about the items I had listed. Most were throwbacks from my going-out days... you know, 5" BCBG heels and metallic Bebe bags. The kind of semi-trashy stuff I no longer wear, now that I'm officially "middle-aged" and behaving accordingly. I didn't realize this kind of item would draw... how do I put this?... a certain kind of "inquisitive buyer". You know, the kind of buyer who doesn't mind sending messages and making some very specific requests.

Now, I could start by telling you about the gal who wondered if I'd model a very standard stiletto-heel/pointed-toe boot with skirts, because she's challenged in the area of putting outfits together. Or I could tell tales of my new uber-polite "bon ami" in France who bought two pair of rhinestone Steve Maddens for his wife and always signed his messages "see you soon". (Am I going to France? Oui? If so, please tell me now, Stephane, so I can be looking forward to it!) Or perhaps I could mention the endless array of inquiries like "I love this purse... does it really look that good in person or is it just photogenic?" But I'm far too anxious to tell you all about Steve.

The first message I got from Steve was to ask if I'd be willing to accept a "well-concealed cash payment or money order" for a pair of red patent Via Spiga heels. Seemed a little odd, but I didn't think much of it. I mean, my listings all say "Paypal required" but you can't blame a guy for trying. Steve went on to explain that he's a cross-dresser, and though he normally wears a men's size 10, he's been known to fit into a women's 9, and he especially "luvs" patent heels. In fact, he called my Via Spigas "yummy" and requested more photos. And even though I wasn't willing to accept alternate forms of payment, I was glad to send more photos. I mean, just because he has a patent shoe fettish doesn't mean he's not a serious buyer. Right? And I can kinda respect, in some sense, that there's no artiface here. Steve is who he is, and he's found a place online to just be up-front about it. So despite Steve's e-mail signature of "Stevi Patent Pump Sissy", I thought "Who am I to judge?" and sent him additional pics. (Note to self: this attitude might be contributing to my little "magnetism" issue...)

But upon receiving my photos, Stevi wrote back to chastise me: "Julie, why did you bother to take the time to send me these pics if you will not allow me to pay you with a money order or cash payment on these yummy shoes, hun? I'd luv to smell these and wear em but you said you only will take that dumb Paypal, right?? -Stevi Shoe Slut"

Wait. Did Stevi just change his name from Sissy to Slut? Moreover, did he just tell me he wants to smell my shoes??? I was speechless. But it gets better.

The very next e-mail in my inbox was another one from Steve. This time, the subject line read, "Like my pumps, Julie?" and it had three photos attached. Now, I gotta tell you... I was afraid to crack those babies open. I had visions of a tucked-in Buffalo Bill type (like from The Silence of the Lambs) but wearing nothing but patent pumps, of course. So I forwarded it on and asked Mark to open it and let me know if it was anything freaky or inappropriate. He took the brave step of opening the photos and promptly messaged back, "It's harmless... but his choice of props is a little odd." I had no idea what that meant, but I was intrigued. So I opened the attachments, and here's what I saw:

Pumpkins and pumps! Funny!! I know, right? And don't you love the extra flair in photo #3?

The e-mail with the pictures simply said, "Hi , Julie. How do I look in my favorite black patent ankle strap pumps? I sure love wearing pantyhose and patent pumps. -Stevi Shoe Slut"

I was feeling pretty timid about getting all-too-chummy with an alleged "shoe slut", so I thought better of e-mailing him back with a complimentary reply. "Nice pumpkins!" did come to mind, but I left it alone.

But Stevi was not one to leave it alone. Nope. He couldn't walk away, no matter how much he "luved" the patent pumps he was walkin' in. Six days later, I opened up my Hotmail and found another e-mail from that familiar address. This time, the subject read "My New Favorites" and again, more photos followed:

This time, the message was sent to several other people (other Ebay acquaintances? I'll never know...) and it said: "Wowy I sure am excited about finding these shoes on Ebay and buying them outright with the buy-it-now option. These are so sexy and feminine, luv the very dainty thin straps. I've always been turned on by T-strap pumps and finally I'am gonna own a sexy pair that I can wear. These are 10 1/2's so they will fit my sexy size 10 feet purr-fectly. I just may decide to go out into public in this yummmmy pair, surely the guys will love the looks of these heels on my sexy hosed feet! And the pretty girlies will all envy Miss Stevi and her sexy new heels! Won't be mailing my payment till Friday the 26th, so won't have the shoes for a couple weeks yet, but sure am anxious to get em......... -Mistress Stevi Patent"

Another new moniker. This guy changes his name as often as he changes his shoes! Maybe whether he's feeling "sissy" or "slutty" depends on the shoes... I mean, who could argue with that?

Either way, Dude is cracking my stuff up! Once again, I didn't have the gumption to e-mail him back, but I have to admit that I wouldn't be sad if he sent more pics. I wonder if he's still dreaming about my red patent Via Spigas... unfortunately for him, another compliant bidder picked them up. And I wonder, if Steve had won them, who all he would've sent photos to. Did I miss out on the photo of the year here? Probably. I'm thinking these shoes would've brought "sexy back", to the point Stevi would be rockin' them on his Christmas card this year...

And ya'll, that's one holiday greeting I'd give all my Ebay earnings to see!

Fa-La-La-La-La... La-La-Ti-Da!!