It’s Pumpkin Spice Equinox, Bitches.

I am literally shitting pumpkin spiced foods and beverages out my ears at this point, that is how much I am up in this fall business.

I have been for weeks.

Every year, I find myself here. Writing a blog post about how fucking fabulous fall is. Others have done the same, about decorative gourds season, and about the bliss that comes with the best fucking season of all seasons to ever exist.

Eventually I get sick of it. I tire of the maple candles and the apple picking and the farm stands and the pumpkin spiced flavors and the basic bitch UGG boots. Then I move on to Hallmark movies and cherry and cinnamon flavor palettes and holiday music and putting my tree up before Thanksgiving.

But for now, it’s fall. It’s fall and I am in my zone.

I’ve reached the point where I stop procrastinating on the Halloween costumes, and they begin to take their final form. My two oldest kids – 15 and 11 – still dress up to please their brother, and I am ready. I am ready to sew, tuck, pin, and hot glue that shit together like the most Pinteresty Mom you’ve ever known.

My fall display has been out on the front porch for several weeks now, but I’m ready for phase two: excessive fall display. I’m talking hay bails, I’m talking corn stalks, I’m talking fucking potted marigolds.

Two weeks before Halloween, it will morph to Halloween-themed.

November 1st, we move back to excessive fall display with a flair of Thanksgiving.

And about a week before Thanksgiving, the Christmas bonanza takes over and my fall display moves to the table for Thanksgiving dinner.

I have a system. I’m ready. It’s go time.

As I am typing this, I’m actually – legitimately – sitting here, yelling -nay, screaming – in my Steroid Starla voice: LET’S DO THIS! LET’S GO! Because fall is my jam, and I’ve got my canning gear out.

Literally. I’m ready to make some pickles. To pickle some watermelon rinds. To give salsa and pesto and spaghetti sauce another go around. To make up some fucking fruit butters and canned pie fillings. I hate cooking, and I especially loathe the heat and load of canning. And yet the thought of spending an entire day over a steaming pot of vinegar and boiling water has tingles shooting out of every hole of my Martha Stewart reading – water bath canning – yes, I can do this and no, none of us are going to get a deadly intestinal disease from improper processing – head.

And the icing on this fall’s apple cake is: we seem to have escaped our typical, autumnal heat wave. For quite a few years, it would be a muggy 105 degrees for several weeks through September and October. We would slog around in the heat, wondering how we could ever celebrate autumn when it feels like we live on the equator in the middle of summer.

But – fingers crossed – with the exception of a couple days of heat here, and a few days of humidity there – it is cooling down.

Cooling down for, you guessed it: layers.

The thing I’m loving this year is the new appreciation for basic ass girls like me being into this shit. Like finally people are standing up to the naysayers of all-things-pumpkin spice and proclaiming: NO! You will not make fun of me for enjoying the fusion of nutmeg and cloves! NO! You will accept and embrace the addition of cinnamon to create a trifecta of flavors that have literally been around for centuries. “You know pumpkin spice doesn’t even have pumpkin in it!” the naysayers proclaim, and finally we are there, ready to respond: no shit … it’s called pumpkin spice because it’s the spice used in pumpkin pie, you ignorant, nutmeg-hating twats.

So today is the first day of fall and I’m feeling fabulous about it. I’ve got crafts staged in the garage, and pumpkin spice pancake mix prepped in the fridge for breakfast. It’s Pumpkin Spice Equinox, bitches.

You’re Fuckin’ A Right, It’s Fall

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It’s Fall, motherfuckers. Well, it’s been Fall for a few weeks now, but – as usual – I’m behind the game of things.

That’s not true. My Fall shit has been up since around August. It was like 102 degrees out, and I was setting up a scarecrow. I’m just slowing down on all the crafts and the Pinterest projects right now to take a breather, and share the bad-assedness of Fall with you faithful blog followers.

I absolutely am in love with Fall.

Are any of you tired of hearing that from panty-waste women such as myself yet? Oh I just love the smell of falling leaves! Pumpkin season is back! Here are 7,000 photos of my family and me apple picking and getting lost in fucking corn mazes!! Fall is the greatest season EVER!!!

That’s a bit over the top, but I will say that I share the sentiments that Fall is pretty fucking rad. I’m not sure why. It’s possible that it’s because baseball season is coming to an end (being a White Sox fan, I am usually ready for the disappointment to stop), and football/basketball/hockey season begins. But I’m not that much of a sporty, so really I think it’s the sights and smells, the projects and the extra free time. And it’s the undeniable fact that with the beginning of autumn comes the temporary end of summer boob sweat.

My favorite things about Fall (besides the part about boob sweat), in no particular order are:

Gourds and Shit.

Shit like hay bales, scarecrows, sunflowers, and dried out corn.

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Fucking Fires.

October is fire season in California, which means that the highest fire risk is present. A lot of people’s lives are entirely devastated as a result of some sick fuck with a Zippo and a pyromaniacal tendency.

I’m not talking about that kind of fire. I’m talking about fireplaces and campfires. The crackling and the smell is the greatest; even when it’s simulated with potpourri, fake logs, and LED tea lights on my living room coffee table.

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Open Eating Season Begins!!!

That’s the thing that is really spectacular about Fall and Winter: it’s Open Eating Season. In the spring and the summer, we’re always too busy and too hot and sticky, and too self-conscious about the way we look in our jorts and bathing suits, to eat. But with fall comes pumpkin everything. Halloween treats and Halloween candy. Then Thanksgiving and on into the winter season of eating and yuletide, and all that other happy horse shit involving egg nog and calories.

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So sure, it may be tiring to listen to people ramble on and on about how great their Pumpkin Spice Frap at Starbucks was this morning. People are going to totally overdue the pumpkin flavored crazy, which – ironically – rarely has actual pumpkin in it. Yeah, people will start wearing those ugly fucking moon boots again, but it will still be warm enough to pair them with jorts and skeez tops.

But beyond that, Autumn is so awesome. The leaves and the wind and the oranges and browns and reds. The crackling of fires and the gourds and dried out corn. Pumpkin farms, apple picking, and haunted houses. The end of it being warm enough for teenagers to dry hump outdoors in public; and the beginning of sweater season.

You’re fuckin’ a right, it’s Fall.

All I Want For Christmas Is An Animal Carcass

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Is that weird? I think it might be.

I keep seeing all these commercials about what men should get their wives for Christmas. Get her diamonds, they say. Get her a kitchen appliance, they condescend. Get her gift cards to the mall, they suggest (as if I wouldn’t spend all my husband’s money at the mall anyway).

I want none of those, though. I want an animal carcass.

For a few years now I’ve been on this organic, nature-y decorating kick. Two years ago on our anniversary I got my husband to buy me a set of moose antlers, which are now covered in leaves and sitting on my bookcase. I made a ‘birds on a wire’ decal to put around our kitchen window. I even got a breakfast table that had iron branches and birds for table legs.

Don’t mistake this for me being into the outdoors, though. I fucking hate the outdoors. I’m allergic to pretty much everything. In fact, I can’t even walk to the laundry room without sneezing. I’m also easily terrified by things in the wild – birds, possibly poisoning plants, bugs. I’ll never forget that one time at Girl Scout camp when we had to use a rope to climb up a relatively small hill and I was so horrified by everything we climbed through that I vowed to never enter the woods again.

And besides those few times in high school (which compromised my Proud to be a Dare Graduate t-shirt, as well as my virginity), I’ve stayed out of them since.

So it isn’t about loving nature. It’s also not about loving animals. I think animals are so gross. First and foremost, they piss and shit. Sure, all living beings do but not typically on my carpet or bed or hand. The majority of them are out to murder people and each other and shit too. Survival of the fittest and all that, right?

Not to mention that if I actually loved animals, it wouldn’t be shown by hanging their large carcasses and various body parts in and around my home. I’m also not really an animal murderer, per se, either; for Christ’s sakes, I was a vegetarian for six years.

You faithful blog followers are probably asking yourself now just why? Why the animals? Why the nature? Why the carcass?

I have three, very specific reasons why I am really into decorating my apartment with animals and nature shit now, and why I want to complete our home with a large animal head or carcass, mounted on my bedroom wall.

#1 Animal and nature decor provides topic for conversation

It should be no surprise for me to describe myself as a little misanthropic. That’s actually putting it really, really nicely. I fucking hate people. I hate having to put on a smile and fake pleasantries with people that I know are not always pleasant. And I hate having to figure out small talk topics with people that either (a) have no brain to speak of, or (b) think they are better than me, for whatever reason they think that.

Having a piece of an animal hanging around provides ample conversation topics. So does bizarre, nature-themed decoration.

#2 Body parts of deceased animals implies I own guns

I don’t own guns. I wouldn’t ever allow them in our home. But I still would love to scare the shit out of people that might be interested in stealing and/or attacking me.

Say robbers walk into my house. They see body parts everywhere. Taxidermy on the wall. Antlers on the bookcase. They trip over my snake-skinned ottoman. This implies that were they to get caught, they’d also get shot and wind up with the same fate as the many animals that adorn my home. It also totally deters them from attempting to kidnap or rape any of us, because who knows? I may be sleeping with the guns I probably killed all those animals with. Or what if I murdered those animals with my bare hands and a knife, that I happen to keep strapped to my leg at all times?

There are so many implications that come with a house full of dead animals.

#3 Possibility for permanent chastity

What could be a bigger turn-off to Poor Nick than having a large animal staring down at him? Judging him for those awkward thirty seconds. Questioning him. Implying that he is less virile than the dead animal on the wall.

Having kids changes your sex life, but not permanently. And my razor-lined chastity belt always comes with the risk to my own hoo-ha.

But the head or entire carcass of an animal – any animal – would serve as two wins for this lady. It would complete the organic, nature-y feel I’ve been going for in our apartment, for years now. And it would provide permanent chastity.

So who’s going to call Poor Nick and tell him to get this lady the carcass of an animal? Or maybe just a head. I’ll take any animal, really. Zebra. Lion. Bear. Deer. I’d even take a minx.