Monday, September 17, 2007

It turns out I lied

When Bubba and I were leaving for our vacation I told him, as a way to justify my SUMMER RULES WINTER DROOLS bitching, that I would have myself a little summer send-off party in Hawaii and when we got back I would fully resign myself to the Fall Season and quit parading around like it's still summer.

Also I would stop giving the evil eye (and sly naughty finger) to anyone mentioning the words, "fall", "autumn", "winter", "The Holidays" or the much-hated, "Christmas". Which I'm sure came of significant relief to him as I've been rudely avoiding our neighbors because they keep announcing their anxiety about "getting the new roof on before winter" as though it's about to snow at any moment. Annoying.

Well, I went to Target today to restock our empty ass house with all the necessary sizes of Ziploc bags and the spray-on sunscreen I like (we used so much - I'm proud) and I totally bailed on my big promises.

The moment I saw the gigantor Halloween display of orange and black bullcrap I nearly barfed. I at least broke out into a cold sweat. And I definitely said some bad words.

I'm not going to go on a big rant as to how much I hate the celebrating of all holidays, contrived or genuine, with all manner of tacky, wasteful and UGLY color coded knick-knackery or that I just don't understand why we must start its celebration so soon before even the month of said holiday is upon us, but it does get me all riled up and that is when I start flipping the bird and wielding my big red shopping cart with the intent of knocking over jack-o-lantern displays.

Meanwhile the changing color on the trees has me staring and smiling. Because I like fall. I like leaves changing colors and piling up on our grass. I like eating in-season squash and making smoky bacon chili without sweating my ass off in the kitchen. I like watching football every Sunday and fishing in a river surrounded by yellow birch trees.

I just don't like driving home from the river and seeing tacky Christmas lights draped haphazardly from apartment balconies illuminating the rusty Smokey Joe bbq and piles of housewares they couldn't find room for inside. It brings questions to mind to which I never have an answer.

Example: When taking the time to purchase and install Christmas lights on ones rickety ass apartment balcony, does one not contemplate the area which one will be illuminating with said Christmas lights and then recoil in horror at the tag sale shitshow one's balcony has become?

Clearly the answer to this is, "No, one does not", but I still ask it (albeit quietly and to myself) about one thousand times every year. And this Q&A session gets tiresome and redundant and makes for some long car rides where I have to close my eyes, therefore losing every game of "Hay".

But anyway, I have resigned myself to behaving as though fall is here and I'm OK with it even though my behavior is mostly a sham to disguise the seething scrooge loitering just below the surface. And to be fair, I'll try to parlay my sham onto the blog so that you don't have to suffer my incessant bitching about the fading of my meek tan, my neighbor's blinking wreath or all the "boo"-ing paper ghosts hanging from my other neighbor's tree.

I'll try. Don't get greedy.

Meanwhile, Hawaii was kick ass and I swam around with this turtle:


  1. Old goal for the week: Report cards. New goal: to weave "knick-knackery" in as many conversations as I possibly can this week.

  2. You're being honored, my friend.

  3. You big Halloween scrooge, you! I know that deep down you're just DYING to put up a scarecrow on your lawn and hang one of those Halloween flags from your front door, and install an authentic cornucopia on your porch with a bunch of colored dried corn.

    What? You mean you aren't already stocking up on trick or treat goodies for the neighborhood brats, ahem, I mean kids? Yours must be that house with the light off. ;-) Hee hee.

  4. I am completely with you on the knick-knackery and junk that comes with these holidays. At least you don't have a 6 year old who thinks it it oh so beautiful and want our house to look like all the other ones on the street. (at least we moved away from the house that celebrates every last holiday and looked at us askance when we didn't do the same).

  5. Jane - It really says it doesn't it. I, too, will try to weave it in all over the place. We'll start a new slang crimewave!

    Woof - That rocks! No one ever calls me nice. Fanks!!

    Shelley - Nuh-huh. I am so not putting that crap up at my house. I will, however, be flaunting my giant pumpkin for all the neighborhood kids to be jealous of. And MAYBE, if they're lucky, I'll put out some luminarias because that part of Arizona somehow didn't die within me despite the fact that I've erased the rest.

    And I always give away candy. Good candy. So that no one eggs my house. I'm way more anal retentive than I am evil.

    Sharon - I won't lie. I got my goddaughter a Halloween card with a big scary black cat on it. Because, you know, it will be at my best friends house, not mine. Evil! I know!

  6. You swam with that turtle? That's pretty cool.

    I cringed when I saw the Halloween decorations in stores already. When you have kids, you MUST decorate (for almost all holidays), otherwise it's sacrilege.


[2013 update: You can't comment as an anonymous person anymore. Too many douchebags were leaving bullshit SPAM comments and my inbox was getting flooded, but if you're here to comment in a real way like a real person, go to it.]

Look at you commenting, that's fun.

So, here's the thing with commenting, unless you have an email address associated with your own profile, your comment will still post, but I won't have an email address with which to reply to you personally.

Sucks, right?

Anyway, to remedy this, I usually come back to my posts and post replies in the comment field with you.

But, if you ever want to email me directly to talk about pumpkins or shoes or what it's like to spend a good part of your day Swiffering - shoot me an email to finnyknitsATgmailDOTcom.