My favorite holiday is here! Halloween! Happy Haunting everyone!!!
So last night we had our debut Delaware party in the form of the first Annual Pfarr Halloween Bash by the Bay. Of course, despite the fact I haven’t a hint of a hangover (thanks, pregnancy!), it was a success. Even though I missed downing a spooky cocktail or two, at least I had my stash of Hershey’s Halloween candy to scarf down to keep me in the party mood.
Not to brag or anything, but I PERSONALLY know a man who used to develop Hershey’s candy. As in — the actual food chemistry behind the world-famous confections. Yeah, we’re tight. He’s my best friend’s mom’s step-dad, who we all affectionately know as “Doc Chocolate.” Basically, Doc Choc’s cooler than Bono. I mean, could Bono whip you up a from-scratch chocolate cake that would make even the Virgin Mary week for joy with his eyes closed? Um, I think not.
So on this high holy day of candy consumption, here’s to the Hershey’s Corporation and its food scientists! Without you, Halloween would just be a bunch of lame treats like apples with razor blades, pennies, and stale pretzel sticks.
Can you tell I've eaten about 200 "Fun Size" Hershey bars? I've blown up like a blimp and my eyes can barely open. Oh well, it's Halloween!
Like mother, like son. This one will keep Hershey in business for a long, long time.
After going back and forth about several ideas, Grey and I decided to be the Goodyear Blimp and a Goodyear mechanic/blimp handler for Halloween this year. I’ve never seen a human dressed as a blimp before and thought it seemed a little more original than my other ideas. I figured we needed to do something funny with my insanely huge pregnant belly, but I wanted a costume that didn’t involve painting my stomach like any sort of sports ball or fall vegetable.
Our cast-off alternatives to the Blimp couple were being a fallen angel (tarnished, broken halo, bent wings, blacked out tooth, etc.) and the Devil. I would have worn a sign that said, “The Devil made me do it.” Get it? Do it? Like, because I’m pregnant? Haha — I thought that was pretty funny. My other thought was to be a pregnant pause. But that costume seemed so boring (black leggings and a t-shirt with two vertical lines down it like the pause symbol). It would have been cheap and easy, but like I learned in college, just because something is cheap and easy doesn’t mean you should do it. And the last idea was to be a washed-up Playboy Bunny. I’d have ripped up my fishnets, teased my hair, smeared my lipstick, and obviously sported my big-ass belly front and center. Although for that one, I’d actually have to wear a limited amount of clothing, which I’m sure would be a little disturbing for me (and anyone who caught sight of me).
So today I finished up our costumes by swinging by the local Goodyear to see if they had any merchandise I could add to our attire. The mechanics were extremely nice and helpful in bringing to life my realistic embodiment of “The Blimp.” Can’t wait to get dressed up!
Why is it that Halloween, to some people, means dressing like a total skank?  Now, I have nothing against dressing like a skank, truly, I don’t. But in my humble opinion, Halloween is a time to be creative and funny — not just to wear one of the hundreds of slutty costume combos sold at the local Halloween Superstore.
Today Ollie and I went last minute costume shopping and I was thoroughly entertained by all the skank suits at Actor’s Attic. However, also a little dismayed. Every get-up for women there was the same formula only different colors: fish net thigh highs, headband ears of some sort, and a bustiere with flouncy skirt. A slutty bunny! A slutty nurse! A slutty eskimo! A slutty nun! A slutty Freddy Krueger! A slutty mime (possible? apparently)! There seemed to be no creativity in these outfits. How much more fun to act like a slut, but a slut dressed as Pope John Paul II? Or to have a one night stand, but decked out as masked luchador? Or a gigantic drumstick? No amount of fabric or opaque material can take away your inner whore, ladies. Remember that.
And if the girls’ costumes were formulaic, the guys’ costumes were too. The trend with men’s costumes seems to be some object, with a gigantic themed phallus attached to it in the crotch area. A Breathalyzer with a “blow me!’ hose! A fisherman with an enormous “catch of the day” on his pants! And my favorite, a petting zoo with a furry llama charging fully erect! At least the men’s costumes were funny, albeit in a semi-trite way. But back in my single days, I much rather would have made out with a man dressed as an authentic looking Mister T than with some dude with a sequined disco ball taped to his penis. But maybe that’s just me…
Happy Costume Hunting!
OK, this is actually really funny. In a weird, twisted way that makes me never want to take my children to another petting zoo again. Ever.
I’m a terrible flyer. Even though I know logically that it’s the safest way to travel, for some reason, it still makes me nervous. Could it be that darn episode of the Twilight Zone I saw so many years ago? With William Shatner being terrorized by a gremlin on the wing of the plane? I don’t know. Either way, flying in planes (or even worse — helicopters — never again!) is not my idea of a good time.
I think the thing I fear most is loss of control. For instance, when I fly, I’m not afraid of terrorists at all. In fact, I actually think the adrenaline my body creates while flying could be used to overpower any crazy bazooka-wielding madman if he was dumb enough to cross me on a flight. I get so amped up when I fly that I literally could probably toss a 270-pound man through the emergency exit door with my bare hands. I think what scares me is the fact that I am not in the cockpit peering over the pilot’s shoulder. I hate that you just sit there, rocketing through space at 400 mph and have no way to exit the plane or control its motion.
ANYWHO, tonight, coincidentally, after I was looking around at flights for a winter vacation, I stumbled upon a phenomenal website: AskthePilot.com. It’s a godsend! It has all my questions answered right there and addresses all my irrational fears of taking to the sky. The guy who writes it is funny and normal and addresses every crazy scenario any phobic-flyer could come up with. Â Now if only he could be my personal travel assistant!
Patrick Smith makes me consider ditching the Xanax next time I take to the skies!
Is this Twilight Zone episode responsible for my flying phobia? Geez...it makes my hands sweaty just thinking about it.
Wow, that Charlie Sheen. According to countless news sources, early yesterday morning he was found drunk and naked in NYC and had to spend the day in the hospital. I mean, it just doesn’t get much more embarrassing than that. It’s one thing to get drunk, but being found naked and then having to be escorted into the hospital for psychological evaluation? His rep apparently blamed it on an “adverse allergic reaction” but I think the world sees through that lame excuse. Â Geez, I used that one when I peed my boyfriend’s bed sophomore year of college (”Um, sorry, I’m not a lush that pisses herself, I just am allergic to my vitamin pills.” Suuuuure.
Even though I’m pregnant and haven’t been even remotely close to tipsy in more than nine months, I can still feel for Charlie and this embarassing situation. I’ve brought humiliation and shame on myself time and time again thanks to the likes of red wine, Budweiser, and even the random saki bomb (or seven).
There was the time at my best friend’s mom’s wedding that I drank so many white wine spritzers that I asked the Catholic priest if he ever does Jewish weddings, attempted to maul my own imagine in a public mirror, and finally told the bride and groom’s dog walker to go fuck himself when he tried to help me up after I accidentally did a split on the dance floor. My parents STILL remind me how humiliating my behavior was (to them).
Another time, at our friends’ engagement party, I had to be escorted home by Grey with a plastic garbage bag tied around my face so I could barf in it. I literally had the bag handles looped around each ear and vomited for the entire 20 minute ride home. The odd thing was, it was an ENGAGEMENT party — not some raging kegger. The next day I most definitely tried to blame my behavior on “adverse allergic reaction” but I don’t think anybody bought it.
The thing is, I think everyone’s made an ass of themselves while drunk, but thankfully, we don’t have paparazzi taking our picture and putting it on the Internet for millions of people to point and laugh at. Thanks for taking on for the team, Charlie.
What is it about wearing a bridesmaid dress that makes me humiliate myself? This was one of those nights. Plus, it always seems like my parents are on hand for when I get embarrassingly drunk. That's always fun the next day.
With only 19 more entries left on this blog, I spent the evening thinking of the things for which I’m REALLY grateful. I figured nineteen…in honor of the countdown:
1. Ollie: This kid is truly the light of my life. Every day I look at him and am amazed I could raise a little being so freaking funny and smart (and undeniably adorable, even if I am his mother and I have to think he’s cute!)
2. My Soon-To-Be-Baby: Luckily Grey and I got prego easily and I’ve had a cakey 9 months of being with child. Fitting this little turkey is going to pop out so close to Thanksgiving.
3. Grey: The thought of marriage used to make me feel like I was being buried alive. It amazes me that I somehow got lucky enough to find a man I adore (and coerce him into marrying me). Plus, after knowing him for nine years, I still find him as hot and sexy as I did when we were drunkenly dancing to Neil Diamond the first night we met. I didn’t even know that was possible.
4. My Parents: Jack and Deb must be the most supportive people on the planet. There’s not many human beings who would continue to love me even if I suddenly turned into a serial killer, but my parents are those people. Plus they’ve put up with my bitchy and ungrateful attitude since day one, so that’s pretty nice.
5. My Little Bro: Despite the fact I used to lock him in the dog cage when he was a small child, we have always been extremely close. Â He’s the person closest in genetic makeup to me and we share the same exact sense of humor. Â I’d give him a kidney if he ever needed it and I’m sure if one day he ever gets really really wealthy, he’ll bankroll me. And vice versa.
6. My In-Laws: The fact that I lucked into a family as loving and generous as the Pfarrs makes me wonder if I accidentally sold my second born child to the gypsies. What did I do to deserve such a great other set of parents and sibs?
7. My Erie Girlfriends: Some of my closest, bestest BFFS are from Erie. These are girls I’ve know for more of my life than not and who have seen me through my awkward stages of teenage acne and wearing of high waisted tapered jeans. Again, more people that would love me even if I suddenly turned into Hannibal Lector.
8. My Non-Erie Friends: Â Despite growing up in the bubble of Erie, PA I managed to make friends like a fully functioning adult and wind up knowing some truly hilarious and gifted people from places other than Western Pennsylvania. Every day I consider myself blessed to know friendly folks that share a common appreciation for filthy jokes involving the word “penis.”
9. My Health: I take for granted that have all my teeth, my limbs, and generally good genes. Thankfully, I’ve never suffered from any scary diseases like elephantiasis or leprosy.
10. Makeup: I often think that if I was born in Puritan times, I would have been a creepy old maid. Without my mask of liquid foundation and eyeliner, I’d most likely have been shipped off to the convent at age ten or forced to marry an elderly man with one testicle so I could raise farm pigs. Scary.
11. My Education: This list is no order — it’s just a coincidence that makeup comes before education…The fact that I can read and write and work a computer and do basic math and sometimes guess the final question on Jeopardy makes me feel extremely privileged.
12. My Status as a Middle Class American: Sure, it’d be nice to actually have one of those 401Ks every keeps talking about, but any financial issues I have are still the stuff of a gal living in a first world country. I don’t have to worry about fetching clean drinking water or how I’m going to keep my baby warm.
13. The Internet: What did people do before they could Google things like, “Best Pumpkin Cheesecake recipe” or “Rehoboth Beach to Annapolis directions?” Talk about a huge convenience. Â I use it daily and it’s become as much of a modern convenience to me as a flushing toilet. Â Maybe more so.
14. Modern Technology: In addition to computers, how great is it to have a car to drive places and an oven to cook with? I can’t imagine having to smoke salted pork for the winter or rub to sticks together for fire. Yeah, I think the world’s gotten a bit too complicated for its own good, but, I do appreciate the good things that come with that fact.
15. Razor Blades and Hot Wax: I’m afraid I’d be considered some sort of wolf-boy-woman if not for my trusty Gillette and facial waxing services at the local salon.
16. Good Luck: Somehow luck or Jesus or a Higher Power or magic seems to be with me. I’ve pretty much gotten what I’ve wanted in life (Well, except an invitation to prom from Jamie Peitras, that job at The Gap I wanted so badly, and being shafted at the school play try-outs in 9th grade). All my unreached goals or former dreams seem to have worked out for the best now anyway.
17. My ADD: I think in being unable to focus on certain things has made it easy for me to not concern myself with stressy situations. It’d be nice to finally complete a project, but the fact that I can totally disassociate myself from pressing problems makes life pretty darn carefree.
18. Semi-Stability in the World: As I write this, no asteroids or nuclear bombs are set to destroy the human race…it’s nice being able to count on the sun rising tomorrow morning at 6:31.
19. The Small Stuff: All the little things (and big ones) that I’ve forgotten to mention here because it’s 11:50pm and I’m exhausted!
I also am really grateful for pretty stuff like this sunset... Writing this post felt uncannily like my 11th grade Ethics Class paper, "Testimony to My Uniqueness" (Sorry for the length!)
Today, after a weekend of salty treats, standing for long periods of time, and entering my 36th week of pregnancy — my ankles started to look a little, well, thick. Luckily, I still had some crazily tight compression hose stuffed in my underwear drawer from my last pregnancy. I got the hose at the hospital when I delivered Ollie because I had such issues with swelling in my legs (apparently being on an IV for 30+ hours will do that to ya!). In fact, I remember after the surgery, my doctor came in to ask me how I was feeling and my only question for him was, “WHERE ARE MY KNEES????”
Even more than the incision pain, discomfort of having my abdomen sliced open, or fact that I was starving from only consuming ice chips for hours on end — all that was nothing compared to the horror of seeing my legs look like 1000-year-old Redwoods. Literally, to look at them, you’d have though someone stole my bones and replaced them with marshmallow; there was no hint of knee or ankle whatsoever. I wasn’t pleading for morphine post-op, I was begging the doctors to order me surgical grade pantyhose from the pharmacy STAT.
Not that my legs or ankles even remotely resembled this today, but I think to some degree, I almost suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from my labor and delivery cankle experience. Now, at the first sign of swelling, I elevate my legs, ice them down, or like today, bust out the compression hose. Thankfully, my bones have returned and all signs of elephantiasis are at bay. Whew.
OK, my legs weren't quite this bad...but still, a few hours of my steel tights didn't hurt anything!
In addition to being obsessed with websites like Crimestoppers where you can tattle on litterbugs and reckless drivers (plus whoever else needs to learn a lesson!), I LOVE petition websites. Whenever I’m looking to kill some time, I like to go online and sign random petitions for things like saving the polar bears or banning soda for purchase with food stamps. Yeah, like I said, random.
Last night I was browsing said sites and realized there was a petition to stop the world’s largest tire burning incinerator. In Pennsylvania. Like 30 miles from my hometown of Erie. Yeah, I’ll admit, Pennsylvanians aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed (clearly, if they are even considering this!), but seriously — the world’s largest tire burning plant? Um, sounds like an idea put forth by a gaggle of mentally challenged pyromaniacs with a hankering for lung cancer.
This isn’t the first time I’ve heard about a tire incinerator proposed in PA — the first one was actually slated to be put up on the shores of Lake Erie, but there was so much controversy that the developers took their idea south to see if they could pull one over on the more rural (notice I didn’t say inbred) population. Of course, I immediately signed the petition and then linked my Facebook page to the site in the hopes that some other wacko felt like playing pajama activist on the computer at 1AM by adding their signature. Just say no to tire burning!
Who sees tire burning and thinks, "Man, let's do this. I wanna build the largest tire incinerator in the world: yeah!!" ???
I must be in nesting mode because I suddenly felt the need to make 200 mini pumpkin cheesecakes with cinnamon whipped cream today. As in a trance, I gathered the ingredients and began the process of rolling out my own graham cracker crust and whipping up cheesecake batter from scratch. Of course, I didn’t do this on my own, but with the help of Paula Deen, the chef to whom I turn whenever I need a good dessert recipe.
So Ollie and I spent the afternoon following her recipe for pumpkin cheesecake and stuffing ourselves silly with batter and buttered graham cracker crumbs.
Paula is to dessert like Jesus is to eternal life. She pretty much has the market cornered. Anything — banana pudding, strawberry cake, blueberry tiramisu — she’s a culinary genius. Not that she’s bad at other recipes (um, her pimento cheese is to die for) but I just really love her desserts.
One thing I think is great is that she is unapologetic about her use of fat. Whole milk, real butter — things that make dessert an actual dessert. Because if you’re going to eat a slice of pie — why not have it come with all the calories that a pie’s supposed to have? Plus, I’m a firm believer that if you use full fat ingredients, you actually eat way less because it’s actually satisfying. And even if you don’t eat less — oh well! It just tastes better!
My favorite chef dressed as a stick of butter. Love this woman!
Ah, gotta love two-year-old preschool. Now that Ollie’s in a program, I think I appreciate teachers even more than when I actually WAS a teacher. Not only do I have a few hours of free time per week now where I can run to the grocery store sans child or get my brows waxed without a screaming toddler trying to burn down the salon, but Ollie is actually LEARNING! And becoming better behaved! Preschool is literally a miracle.
I mean it when I say his teachers are saints. In just a few short weeks since school has started they have helped teach my wild little beast the alphabet, his numbers, and even rules of social conduct (i.e. keep your pants on while in public and don’t pick your friend’s noses). Even though my son is the classroom hitter (and pusher, and screamer, and barker…), they show a tremendous amount of patience with him. Plus, every day I get a detailed note sent home to me explaining his daily behavior. Most of the time the notes are filled with lines like, “Ollie tried to attack the prayer leader today — just wanted to make you aware” or “Still working on aggression issues. Does he usually use toys as weapons?” sometimes I’ll be pleasantly surprised to find notes like, “Ollie had a great day! Very cooperative and didn’t hurt any one!!!!!” that warm my heart.
The teachers may as well sign the notes, “Wow! He isn’t a sociopath afterall! ” but of course they don’t say that. I can imagine all the things they’d love to write to me about my unruly son, but everything is always communicated in a positive way. For this, I am so grateful. Really. And even though every night I pray he’s not kicked out of school for aggressive behavior toward his peers, at least I can breath a sigh of relief that he’s in good hands when I drop him off.
Some suggested reading material for my lil angel...
PS: As I go to post this, I find it ironic that today is my dad’s 64th birthday. Â I mean, could he have a better present than a wild grandson? Â I’m sure he’d say no…and remind me, “Paybacks are a bitch!” (I was a biter and an aggressive child like Ollie and realize now how much my behavior probably troubled my parents.) I guess one day I can look forward to having even wilder grandchild of my own!
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