It’s Friggin’ Fall Ya’ll

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It’s friggin’ fall ya’ll.

Ghords and pumpkins and apple bobbing showing up in my Facebook newsfeed.

A trip to the pumpkin patch is on my calendar, and there would definitely be cobbler baking in my oven if it weren’t still a million goddamned degrees outside.

Pillsbury has like seven new cake flavors out, including candy apple and pumpkin spice. Which both sound less appealing than licking the roof of my dog’s mouth, but still – it’s friggin’ fall! I’m pumped!

My grocery store has an entire section of fall themed napkins and paper plates now. Like I walk in and – BAM! – there’s pumpkins and leaves to choose from for my family to wipe their disgusting, sloppy hands with.

All the memes are popping up on Instagram making fun of people for drinking their basic white girl pumpkin spice lattes, too. And on the note of basic white girls, I was able to get my husband his annual nutmeg and chai infused coffee creamer, only available – you guessed right – in friggin’ fall.

It’s way too hot out still to wear fall clothes, but I can now look longingly at my scarves and boots and Uggs, my sweaters, my cardigans, my hoodies, my cozy socks and comfy, warm pajamas. I can look at them and know that the five days a year it’s cold enough to wear those things here in Southern California are coming soon. Because it’s friggin’ fall.

Last week – as I mentioned in my post last night – we wrapped up a week of glamping with a couple nights in a hotel and fall shopping. Clothes. New shoes. School stuff. I spent no less than four hours on Thursday deciding whether I wanted to get a brown hurricane lantern with fall themed leaves inside it; or a beige hurricane lantern with nothing but a fall colored candle inside.

Even though it’s hot as balls outside still, I feel suddenly compelled to cook up some chowders. Clam chowder. Corn chowder. Chicken chowder. Potato chowder. I have so many chowders planned, it’ll be coming out of our eyeballs.

I planned out my kids’ Halloween costumes. Every year they dress together as a theme, and it goes a little something like this: I plan the costumes, start working on the costumes, forget about the costumes for two months, panic three days before Halloween and run around town like a crazy woman to put something together, they put said costumes on and take a few photos, then change into something simpler to hang out with friends. I friggin’ love it – it’s fall!

There’s like twenty five bags-worth of leaves piling up in my backyard too. Which doesn’t make much sense, because we live in Southern California and also what the hell do we have gardeners for if they aren’t going to take care of the leaves. But still. Leaves! Yeah! Fall!

I don’t know what it is that makes me more happy about fall. The fact that eventually (maybe in mid-November) it’ll cool down just a little bit. Or this year in particular having been a terrible summer, and fall signifies the end of that. Whatever the case may be, I’m psyched. Ghords and pumpkins and apples and apple bobbing and apple picking and stuff with nutmeg and the other seasonings that go into PSL I’m unaware of; Halloween and then Thanksgiving. It’s friggin’ fall, ya’ll. It’s friggin’ fall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Summer Is Basically the Worst Right Now

 

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IT IS SO FUCKING MISERABLE OUTSIDE.

Ok…to be fair, it really isn’t entirely miserable. I mean, it’s not like in the south where it’s 100 degrees and humid. It’s not the Midwest either, and it’s certainly not equator-weather.

Nonetheless, it’s hot out; hot for coastal California. And it’s humid; and basically no one has air conditioning but the five square miles around us (I think because we live in the equivalent of Hell in terms of heat for this area). So I’m not going many places, except this weekend our air conditioning broke. Now I have nowhere to go, on account of ostracizing myself from society to a) stay in my nice, air conditioned house; and, b) out of a general disdain for other people. Last night it was 97 degrees in my house at 11 o’clock at night because the air conditioning guys were running the heat to fix the air (I just don’t understand) and I was just sitting there, dying in a puddle of melted skin.

Which leads me to the first reason I hate summer: it may as well be called boob sweat season. Can’t go anywhere without busting a major boob sweat.

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There’s pretty much twenty kids milling around outside my front door on a daily basis now, too. Which should be OK – seeing as I’m a mom and all – but I don’t typically enjoy the company of other people’s children (especially when those kids are disrespectful creeps); and to top it all off, most of them don’t seem to understand the daytime concept of “some of us actually have lives that need to go on without your loud and incessant chatter outside our front doors.”

When do these kids go back to school again?

The third thing hacking me off about the summer season right now is watermelon.

Now, don’t get me wrong: I love me my watermelon. In fact, I have a really strange obsession with buying those personal mini watermelons EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I go grocery shopping (so we’re talking several personal mini watermelons purchased per week…all year long).

But…my love of watermelon is mine. Not everyone else’s. I don’t like seeing all the articles about what people can do with watermelon showing up on my Facebook newsfeed. Similarly, I wish I could hit ‘dislike’ on all of people’s Instagram posts about their tequila watermelon or how they came up with the novel idea to stick their watermelon on popsicle sticks.

Novel idea my ass. I’ve been sticking my personal mini watermelons dipped in tequila on popsicle sticks since before you people even knew what a personal mini watermelon was. And to top that off, I don’t really dip it in tequila – that was a joke for emphasis – because WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO WATERMELON?! When summer is over, you’ll all go back to your complete disregard for what may very well be the greatest fruit on the planet, and I will still be obsessively purchasing my personal minis several times per week.

Which makes you all posers. Summertime watermelon posers, making this summer basically the worst right now.

Corn on the cob is another one.

I love corn on the cob. Who doesn’t? No really… is there anyone that doesn’t at least moderately enjoy the summer vegetable?

All year long I wait, patiently. Patiently for the day that corn will be on sale again, and – more importantly – when we will start getting this delicious bi-color corn in our weekly CSA box.

Except when we get it, there’s like one. Or two. Have these people not gotten how many meals I serve every day? The bi-color corn is so goddamned good that we all fight over it, and when there’s only one in the week’s box I feel as though I have to ration out bites.

No really. One week I actually suggested we each take approximately three bites of the one cob. Just pass that shit on around the table until we’ve all had our fair share.

I almost just wish I had never heard of bi-color corn, or that corn weren’t a big summer thing either.

Where are we at now? Four reasons summer is just the worst?

The fifth is my inability to tan. Not that I want skin cancer or anything, but it seems as though everyone around me is suddenly golden and tan – which I equate with having a relaxing lifestyle that could afford the time to lie around and garner such a thing.

And then there’s me – good ol’ whitey. My skin is so pale and white, people’s eyes hurt with they look at me with the sun reflecting off my glow-y, pasty skin.

Not my hair, though. My hair lightens. And my dark hair dye that I use religiously to cover my annoying-non-Californian-Californian-blonde fades pretty much the minute I walk out of the hair salon, leaving me looking terrible. Just. Terrible. Glow in the dark white skin, matched with faded-nappy-looking-hair and sweat pretty much everywhere. Crabby from all the kids hanging around my neighborhood…bitching at people to shut up already about their watermelon. H-angry because I didn’t get a full cob of my week’s rationing of bi-color corn on the cob.

In a nut shell, I hate summer. It is my least favorite of the four seasons, for these and many other reasons. Like the price of sunscreen – which should be given out for free, not charged at $15 a bottle that barely covers my white and pasty ass.

Or the fact that California is on burn alert FLAMING RED 24 hours a day. We are all literally one asshole flicking his cigarette butt in the wrong direction-away from burning completely and utterly to the ground.

I could go on.

Summer is basically the worst right now. Well, really always for me but it’s really getting to me now that we’re in the innards of the season.

I know you all will probably disagree, as you eat your tequila watermelons on a stick and bask in the glow of your perfectly tanned appendages. In the meantime, I’ll be counting down the minutes until fall.

 

STFU Fridays: Winter

Let’s just cut to the chase right here and now: if you are going to get all defensive and up in arms because I’m about to take all the people whining and griping about winter, and shit, to task – just stop. Stop right now. Go back to your fucking pity party, where you sit on your computer looking for deals to tropical places that you will never take a vacation to during the winter; go back to your bitch posts on Facebook and Twitter about the cold and the shoveling and all that bullshit too. Just stop and go back to all that shit and do not read ANY FURTHER.

Because I don’t have time for your bullshit defensiveness right now. Really, I don’t.

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I haven’t done an STFU Friday post in a long time, mainly because on Fridays I’ve been inundated with all of your fucking gripings about cold this, and polar vortex that, and OMG my weekend is ruined I have to shovel snow horse shit. Breaking the fucking STFU silence here, though, because – quite frankly – I’m sick and goddamned tired of all of you guys and your panty-waste whining.

There. I said it. Someone had to.

Well, it’s February 21st motherfuckers, and March is just around the corner. In like a lion and out like a lamb, so let’s just all agree to shut the fuck up and move on about this whole winter thing.

Before I moved to California, I lived in Chicago. I will never forget my last winter there. It was a doozy. Some nights the wind chill got all the way down to negative 30, and we had about 38 inches of snow in a period of roughly 48 hours. Now I’m not that old, and a lot of people I hear griping about the weather in the Midwest and East Coast right now have lived in cold areas like that for much longer than I have been away from it; which means that winter must be like child birth in the sense that everyone fucking forgets after a few years what a hard one really is like.

I am so tired of hearing about the polar vortex. Really. Really and fucking truly. First, and foremost – it’s over with! Fucking move on! Stop trying to analyze it, or deny the fact that the whether patterns are getting more extreme, and that the jet stream has changed, because of global warming, a.k.a. climate change. We’re not talking about why it happened – I have no interest in arguing with you ignorant fucking assholes about that. Let’s just all agree that shit is changing, and this is obvious proof of it. Now just shut up about it, because really it has been that cold before and it will be that cold again.

Shut the fuck up complaining about the way people drive in the winter weather, too. Or the way you have to shovel the driveway a lot. Every time I hear people bitching about shoveling I think to myself Jesus fucking a Christ, snow plows have been around and affordable for DECADES. Shut the fuck up about how you have icicles hanging from your roof, and about the fact that your heating bill has been so high the past few months. Probably 90% of the people I hear bitching and griping about all of these weather-related things work in the service industry: doctors, therapists, firefighters, policeman, nurses. In other words, there are plenty of jobs in places that are far warmer all year long where you could all relocate to and never have to deal with the snow driving-slash-driveway shoveling-slash-heating bill bullshit ever again. Until you make a concerted effort to do this, shut the shit up about all the rest already.

Can it with all your complaining about your kids being home from school. If you didn’t want to run the risk of your kids having snow days from school, you shouldn’t have had kids when you continue to live in a fucking place where you know this could be a possibility. Fuckin’ for real, people – someone had to fucking say it, and I know a lot of you that don’t bitch about your kids having to stay home on snow days were thinking it. That’s like saying you are upset because your child has a fever and can’t go to daycare. That’s pretty much been the lay of the land for – oh, I don’t know – since the advent of people having children in daycare. Therefore, you knew what you were getting into. Let your kids jump on the fucking bed after they play in the snow and have their hot cocoa; work from home, and shut the fuck up.

I saw an article the other day about how cities have a “new challenge” with all this cold and snow and ice and shit, in that they have to close down sections of sidewalk next to big buildings so that people don’t get murdered by falling icicle daggers. I’m sorry, new challenge? Huh? This has been going on FOR DECADES. Since the advent of skyscrapers. My mind is just utterly fucking boggled by this, because it is case-in-point proof that you people have never experienced winter before in your entire fucking lives.

But that isn’t really true, is it? The truth is that you guys had a couple easy ones, and – like I said – it was like all of your awful, 30+ hours of labor and delivery, when you tried to squeeze little Johnny out your v-hole. You forgot, quickly, how truly horrible it can be.

So let’s all just agree that you people amidst a shitty winter need to say “hey, look…it’s been a shitty winter, but just around the corner we’ll have spring and then a shitty summer to bitch and gripe about.” Because that’s what’s next, right guys? An extra hot, or extremely humid, summer that you all won’t shut your lily-livered mouths about?

Right. I thought so.

Sorry, guys. I know, this must be easy and all for me to say, being that I’m in California and haven’t worn anything but flip-flops in my 14 years here. But I’ve been back to the cold and the freezing in that time, and I just didn’t bitch about it. I actually enjoyed it. Truthfully, you guys should all consider yourselves lucky, for it isn’t until you live in the same, drab weather day after boring fucking day that you realize a harsh winter isn’t that bad in the end. It’s a change of pace. A beauty of nature. Something many people dream of and have never had the fortune to experience.

So shut the fuck up about winter, guys. Seriously. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

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I Like The Cold

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People always look at me like I’m a complete moron when I tell them that I like the cold. As in cold outside, you know: snow, sleet, wind chill.

I get jealous when I see that there are blizzards going on somewhere in the world.

I live in California. Particularly, Southern California. We have one dial on the weather-o-meter and that’s about it: 70s and sunny. Sometimes we get fog. Occasionally it rains for a few days. Once in a while the winds blow and it hits 90; or the ocean blows in some high 60s.

High 60s. Anything below that and the city in which we live shuts down.

By contrast, I grew up in Chicago. Those of you that have been hanging around the blog for a while know how much I love the city and its suburbs. In the winter, and sometimes in the fall and spring, it is exceedingly cold in Chicago. Like cold-cold.

And I love it.

I guess maybe you don’t realize what it’s like to live in a place that has virtually no weather variation at all until you have. I’ve lived in Southern California now for almost 14 years and I can say without a doubt that it is beyond boring, mainly because of the weather. Yeah, it’s nice to not have to worry about things like closed-toed shoes or scarves and hats. Sure you have the ocean with the EPA’s estimation that thousands of people take a dump in that water every day while out surfing or swimming (related note: I do not ever go in the Pacific Ocean). Okay, you have the beaches you can go to any time of the year ….unless, of course, they’re closed because of all the hypodermic needles sticking out of the sand.

But there is no changing of the leaves really, especially not as dramatically as in the Midwest. You never have the excitement of jumping in a pile of freshly raked leaves; or by contrast the thrill of knowing that spring is just around the corner.

There will never be a first snow of the year for Southern Californians.

No, there will be first snow in the mountains that people will get in their cars and drive to, only after the snowing has already happened. And only for a little while before getting back in their cars and driving home to the 70s and sunny before nightfall.

You cannot get much more monotonous than that.

What I’m saying is that there are no changes of the seasons, which means there is none of the living that comes along with it. I equate living with having these experiences that are unique and exciting and different. Not monotony. Shoveling. Snow balls. Raking leaves. Seeing fresh flowers bloom. Feeling snow in your hair. Ice skating. Sledding in your back yard. Bundling up in a hat, scarf, and gloves for a football game. Hot chocolate when it isn’t actually hot out.

In 70s and sunny every day, there is not much room for exciting and different experiences when it comes to the weather. I find this ironic because in California we pride ourselves on organic-living, which should extend well beyond just the foods we eat into the way we live. And yet there is nothing organic at all about making fake snow at Disneyland or having to drive four hours in traffic to see orange, brown, and red leaves.

I don’t know, maybe it’s all in my head. I must be biased because I love Chicago and dislike California. I’m sure there is an entire conglomerate of blog followers, family, friends, and people that just like to hate me waiting to tell me how I am making no sense. I have rocks in my brains for liking cold weather, or I’ve just forgotten what a foot of snow feels like.

The bottom line, though, is that I’m home again, in suburban Chicago for the holiday. And I felt more alive as I stood in the snow yesterday afternoon than at any point in the last 14 years that I’ve lived in Southern California. I was cold. My fingers felt numb. But I could feel it, and I knew I was there because of it. There was nothing monotonous about it at all, and that is living.

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.

6 Halloween Indulgences

There are exactly two weeks left until Halloween. That can mean one thing and one thing only for this lady: Halloween indulgences.

So Halloween is the kick start of the holiday season, it seems. After that it’s like a landslide to New Years. But the one thing that’s different for me than most other people is that it’s the only part of the holiday season that I allow myself indulgences.

I’m not a real holiday person. In fact, I hate the holidays. The family breathing down your neck, making requests of you left and right. The increases in the social calendar obligations. The money. The gratuitous gift giving. Having to clean around the decorations. All the food in excess. The money. The money. The money. And more than anything: the holiday blues. I get them every year and despite my urge to have a Prozac shake every morning until the New Year, I usually just mope my way through it.So Thanksgiving doesn’t see 3,000+ calories for me; in fact, I usually eat salad. Christmas cookies and candy and other assorted food-coma items are not something I partake in often either – I’m not the biggest fan of desserts most of the time.

You faithful blog followers are all probably envisioning that when I say “Halloween indulgences” I’m sitting around, shoveling miniature-sized Three Musketeers bars down my throat, while I pour Pixie Stix in my mouth, like a princess adorned with all the candy jewelry Candyland has to offer.

Sadly, this is just not the case. It would be funny, but like I said: I’m not really into desserty-type stuff most of the time.

Halloween Indulgence 1: New Halloween Decorations

I like Halloween decorations. I don’t mean the ones that are all blood and gore and crap. I also don’t mean overly elaborate ones. I like simple, but cute Halloween decorations that remind me of being a little kid again. Especially The Peanuts Halloween stuff – they just get me every time.

So I buy new Halloween decorations every year. I don’t mean that I throw out the old and bring in the new, I just add to my collection. Fortunately, since I don’t buy that much (maybe one or two things per year), we still don’t have that much. Some indoor skeleton lights. A couple grave stones. Cobwebs. A blue skeleton head. Those types of things. This year I bought an adorable mummy candle holder.

Halloween Indulgence 2: Making Homemade Costumes As An Excuse To …

… sit on my ass. Spend less money on costumes. Control what the costume is going to be. Sit on my ass some more. Go to my knitting/crafting group. Did I mention sit on my ass?

Making homemade Halloween costumes requires that I be in place and left alone for periods of time that I don’t usually get to be in place and left alone. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll never get your Halloween costume done!” is the primary reason why I start costumes in July.

Halloween Indulgence 3: Pumpkins and Gourds and Shit

It might be because so many gourds are phallic. It might also be because they are a cheap and easy way to decorate. Yesterday we went to the local pumpkin patch and I bought about forty pumpkins and assorted gourds and corn cobs for $30. Being a shopaholic that is on the way into the holiday blues (often temporarily cured with shopping), this is awesome. I can spend hours drowning my sorrows sifting through bins of shit that looks like a penis without breaking the bank, like clothes or shoe-shopping would.

Seems like a total win to me.

Halloween Indulgence 4: Cheesy Halloween TV Shows and Movies

When I was in high school, my dad and I would watch Mystery Science Theatre 3000 all the time. Since then (we’re talking for about fifteen years, now) I always poke fun at movies while watching them.

Cheesy Halloween TV Shows and Movies are the best for this. Last night I forced everyone to watch The Brain That Wouldn’t Die – a movie from the early 60s about a crazy doctor who gets into a car accident and tries to preserve his fiance’s head while he finds a body to attach it to. Sadly, my husband doesn’t appreciate my humor such as he should, so it usually ends in me sitting and cracking jokes to myself.

Halloween Indulgence 5: Boney With His Massive Invisible Boner

A while back, I introduced you all to Boney with his massive invisible boner. I’m not entirely sure how I came up with this concept. I mean, it’s just a plastic skeleton that I got at Michael’s a few years ago for $10. And despite my previous comment about sifting through a bin of phallic gourds, my mind is rarely anywhere near the gutter (I mean, my idea of sexytime is reading a book in sweatpants).

Nonetheless, Boney with his massive invisible boner becomes my mascot from the time he comes out of storage until November 1st every year.

Halloween Indulgence 6: Dressing Up My Animals

No, I do not mean Pookies or husband. I mean my actual animals.

Before my dog Watson died a few years ago, he got stuck playing dress up. Now that he is gone, I dress up the guinea pig, Agamemnon.

But I don’t just dress him up. I dress him up time after time, and have fashion shows with him in the living room. In the living room covered with penis-shaped gourds, with Boney and his massive invisible boner as the audience. Nothing weird about this at all, right? I make him some popcorn, set up a little runway, and turn up the Right Said Fred “I’m Too Sexy.” It’s very bizarre and I’m pretty sure he hates me at this point; although, he does seem to like it once in a while.

I’ll leave you with the most recent of the guinea pig fashion shows.

300th Post, Ruined By a Jerkface

Well it’s Happy 300th B(itch)es! I had this great post planned. I was going to do a lot of photos. Funny stuff. A list of confessions. And gunk about anniversaries and getting busy.

Then this total jerkface ruined my mood, so we’re sticking to the theme of B(ITCH)LOG for this one. This will probably be more comical than my list of confessions. And you guys didn’t want to know about how infrequently I shave my legs, or about that time in Cabo I always reference anyway…

This weekend whilst I canned pickles and sun-dried tomatoes and shit, the husband broke out the Halloween decorations to keep little hands busy so they weren’t touching my canned goods. It’s a little premature (Halloween being over a month away) but regardless of that, it was a helpful distraction and – anyway – it’s our home so we can do whatever the fuck we want. You don’t see me complaining to anyone because the neighbor has had fake weapons made out of foil with red marker-blood drawn on them hanging from his window since we moved here. No one’s come up dead so I figure he’s into that freaky, gothic crap. I didn’t storm outside screaming when the guy across the way sat on his porch in his tighty-whiteys scratching his balls and smoking for an hour one day last week.

If I want fucking pumpkins and maize and shit around my house, I’ll fucking have pumpkins and maize and shit around my house. What you do in/on your space is your business. As long as it’s legal and nobody gets hurt, of course.

And anyway, our decorations are relatively modest. There is a little fall display on our kitchen table that I made Saturday (pictured above), which sits at the foot of my large Buddha. (This just inspired my uber-Catholic father to ask if I was presenting offerings to Buddha and, thus, going to hell. That was a fun pseudo-Catholic-joke-gone-wrong on his part.) We have a skeleton in the bathroom that laughs when you flush the toilet. There’s a little, glittery mummy on the breakfast table. Some cobwebs and lights on the indoor trees. And my third-string boyfriend “Boney” (for his massive, invisible boner) hanging from my pot and pan rack.

You can imagine then how I felt when this middle-aged nerd in Harry Caray glasses, with a pot belly hanging over his belt and sweat dripping from his brow, knocked on my fucking door to inform me that our fall decor offended him. Motherfucker said it “offended” his “senses.”

#1: It’s September and the last time I checked there is fall shit everywhere. The only things we have outside are a little skeleton thing that he probably did not see, it is so out of the way; and the scarecrow sitting between our two deck chairs.

#2: Even if Halloween were a fucking millennia away, fall is later this week. Therefore, a scarecrow – unambiguously a fall decoration – is totally acceptable.

#3: If I wanted to plaster my entire front porch with lighted signs that say “Happy Halloween Dickweed in the Harry Caray glasses!!!” with neon orange lights blaring until four o’clock in the morning, it’s my right to do so. I pay rent the same way this dillhole does. I pay my share of the community water bills, likely as high as they are because of this dude’s extra need for summer douching. I have just as much a right to display what I want as he does to display any nerd convention shit he may choose to display on his front porch. My. Fucking. Right.

So I told that jerkface to mind his business and get off my porch.

My retaliation to this anally bleached king of the middle-aged nerds is going to begin tomorrow and not end until Valentine’s Day. From now until then, I will be decorating our apartment prematurely for every holiday I can possibly find decorations for. And I’m doing it big. We’re talking blaring lights. We’re talking shit that talks and scares the crap out of you when you walk by it. We’re talking Christmas before Thanksgiving. Valentine’s Day on January 3rd. I want to blow this middle-aged a-hole back to a time when people minded their own fucking business and just shut the fuck up once in a while.

It’s going to be great.

Happy 300, faithful blog followers! You can see my psychosis and foul-mouthed antics still reign supreme after all this time. I suppose it’s best that I was in true form anyway for this blessed post. Maybe one day in the future I’ll finally do that confessions blog and tell about the scandal in Cabo…