What I love about Halloween

I love the candy.  That's all.

I prefer clever costumes to all out I-can't-sit-down-in-this-bear-suit costumes.  Although, now that I just mentioned it, a bear suit would be awesome.  Mary, you should go as a bear.

By clever costumes, I mean ones that use irony or are incredibly literal.  Or metaphorical.  Whichever one is actually funnier.  At the last Halloween party I went to, I taped a black box to my back and said I was a refrigerator magnet.   I was actually wearing a T-shirt with an outline of Michigan on it, and we had a Michigan shaped magnet on the fridge.  This helped to seal the deal.

I like Halloween for other people, and I have enjoyed it in the past.  But I'm not up for the fanfare when there's no one else to share it with. I'm not really familiar with my neighborhood yet, but I haven't seen any children, and I haven't seen any decorations on doors. It is still a bit early for it.  I remain cautious.

I'm not crazy about the scary aspect of Halloween.  (Though I do support scary and gory over dressing up like an effing princess.  Unless it's a zombie princess, move on little girl.  No candy for you.)  This is simply because I don't enjoy being scared.  I think it actually makes my heart weaker.  Please don't scare me.  Creepy and gory are ok.  Pranks are cool, as long as they don't actually make me scream and think you might either be dead or trying to kill me.

I once participated in a haunted house where I dressed in all black and hid in a make shift cage.  I was supposed to jump out at people when they walked by.  I remember a young boy and his mother; they genuinely thought the cage was empty and approached it.  They examined it pretty thoroughly while I just waited, luring them in.  I think the little boy pissed himself when I yelled "boo."  I felt an odd mix of pride and shame.

Turns out I'm a pretty mixed bag when it comes to Halloween.  This year, I just want to eat the candy.

Words you don't hear anymore ... because you're a professional.

EXPLICIT CONTENT!  Just so you know, there's swears in this.

There are a few words and phrases I'd like to bring back into rotation. I was inspired by this clip from Better Off Ted. It was a great show, but canceled, because apparently people don't like great things. I'm guessing it got lost in ABC's lineup, falling victim to the over-saturation of work place comedies. Regardless, I always say (and I may have taken this from somewhere and I don't remember from where now) you take your inspiration where you can get it. So for this, I got it here:



A few years ago I was having a conversation with a lawyer friend of mine and the subject of vulgarity came up. Apparently a colleague of hers lamented the fact that certain words had gone out of rotation; words like motherfucker mostly. She took a moment to remind her colleague that it's because they were lawyers. Lawyers don't oft speak like that because it is unprofessional. Not to say that it is completely off their radar, and that they never say it, but it's not every other word, or a casual greeting, like it may have been when the colleague was in middle school and trying to impress other middle school aged boys. 

I think about how often I used to swear and how little I swear now. I feel as though I've just grown out of it. The weird part is I really wish I hadn't. I miss being at the top of my game for stringing together vulgar insults. In fact, I'm not sure I was ever there. I don't think I was ever near the caliber of these classically trained thespians. My hat is off to them.

As much as I would love to bring some of these words back into regular rotation within my own vernacular, I also understand and respect the boundaries of my professional work space. It would indeed create a hostile work environment if I were to call my coworkers "drug-addled twats" and "sister-fucking hillbillies." (Thank you Andrea Anders.) Television is not real life. And that wasn't even television, it was the outakes.

So that leads me to bring back those words within my personal life, at home. The problem here is I've simply fallen out of practice. I end up calling the toaster a "hot piece of fuck," and yelling at the remote control.  It unravels quickly and soon I stop watching my language when I'm talking to my mother. I've been relatively unguarded for a while and she's pretty used to it, but adding in fresh new swears might induce some sort of sugar coma. I did use the word twat with her once. She didn't know what it meant, and I chose to not really explain it well, hoping she wouldn't take my poor explanation for gospel and start using it in her own casual conversation. Though it would spice up her bible study.

So for lack of a sounding board, I get less creative in my vulgarity.  I do like the idea of an insult equation, since it combines two things I enjoy: insults and equations.  You tiny-eyed monkey-twat fucker.  Hm.  I'll keep practicing.

Dear Fox, Mr. Nielson, and Congress-Person:

How do I get a Nielson box?

First, I'm surprised they're even still relevant.  And second, I want one.

Too many awesome things are taken off the air and too many shitty things are left on the air because I don't have a Nielson box.  Either I need to get one, or there needs to be a write in portion for the ratings.

I did a little bit of research and it turns out you have to randomly selected to become a Nielson family.  They say it's completely random, and that it is so random, they can't even tell you how you might be chosen.  This seems suspect to me.  It makes a mind like mine wander off to conspiracy land.

I want to join in the campaign to save Running Wilde.  I've loved Mitchell Hurwitz since he was writing on The Golden Girls. Some of the best episodes were penned by Hurwitz. I actually wrote a paper in grad school about him, and I got an A on it.  He keeps getting cut short, like in The Ellen Show,  and I think it's because the right people don't have Nielson boxes. I also think Will Arnett is a comic genius. I'm convinced that if he does something that I don't think is funny, it's my fault for not understanding it.  And James Vallely is probaly pretty neat-o.  The point is, somebody (Fox) needs to know that people (me) want to keep watching this show.  So I am actually going to write a letter.

And now the pressure is on.  According to a reliable source, one letter is equivalent to 10,000 viewers.  I must do those other 9,999 viewers proud.  I must be eloquent, yet concise.  I bet executives hate wordy letters. Something short, sweet and to the point.

Dear Fox,
Please don't cancel Running Wilde.
Thanks.
Nancy

Hm.  Maybe it needs something more.     

I don't agree with Columbus, but I'll take the day off.

And that pretty much encompasses my activism and hypocrisy in one sentence.  I've been silent this week because of some sort of crisis of conscious I've been having.  That blog posts remains in the draft folder.  I started to come full circle on the issue.  I noticed a lot of people use their Facebook stati to promote or support certain issues.  I suppose this does no harm.  Though it brings to mind a few things:
1. What does it really do?
2.  There are so many issues out there, can there really be a Facebook group for every one of them?
     2a. Yes, there probably are. 
3.  Doesn't this create an over saturation of ideas and organizations that essentially do nothing?
4.  I don't know Mark Zuckerburg, but I saw The Social Network, and I don't think Facebook was created in order to tout political ideals.  Social ideas, maybe.  But nonetheless, I don't like the idea that if I don't make my status reflect the latest political fight, I'm probably a bad person.  I then choose to make my page politically neutral on all things.  It is also pushing me to cancel my page, due to #3 above.

So what appears to be laziness is actually a calculated effort to not get caught in an accidental web of hypocrisy.

I would love to tell everyone I know why we should no longer celebrate Columbus.  The story we were told as children about the great explorer is pretty much all lies.  It's not even secret lies anymore.  Any book about Columbus tells us the same thing:  he was awful.  He killed millions of indigenous people.  He raped and pillaged and lied, and probably didn't recycle.  But he was able to sell the story well to those that would buy it, and five hundred years later, we choose to sweep the horrifying details under the rug and enjoy the day off.

Of course I'm not about to go into work anyway just because I don't agree with why we're getting the day off.  It's not really an option, the office is actually closed.  But, as unpopular as this would be, I would support revoking the day off.  In exchange, of course, for another day off.  Such as Eleanor Day (Eleanor Roosevelt's birthday:  Oct. 11, 1884) or Lucy Day ("I Love Lucy" premiered on CBS-TV: October 15, 1951).  We could put it up for a vote.  But a real vote, not a Facebook vote. 

Dear Tuesday.

     I used to love Tuesdays.  Just absolutely love them.  There used to be good things happening on Tuesdays, and it was often a good television night.  I would have an awesome class schedule, and lunch with my friends.  I would have candy for dinner, ice cream for dessert, and a puppy would lick me clean.  Not any more.  Today, I wanted to break up with Tuesdays.  It was like Tuesday was in some sort of wormhole, but a bad one, where time moves super super slow.  And nothing at all happened.  And it felt worse than a Monday because the memory of the weekend had already faded.  And it's not as good as a Wednesday, because at least Wednesday is hump day.  I already knew why Monday was bad, and all the other days.  But I thought Tuesday was special.  I mean, really, I used to love Tuesdays.  It really let me down today.    
    I'm going to give Tuesday another chance, but it is on thin ice.
    
     In other news, Reece's Peanut Butter Cups come in Dark Chocolate now.  It was a delightful surprise when I opened my bad of Halloween candy. I had assumed they were just different wrappers for the holiday.  But alas, different flavors.  I was so happy I almost peed urinated.  That's how I express incredible happiness. 
 

The Social Network: A Review

Yes.

And as for the score:  Also Yes.

Mary liked it too. 

The Pressure of the Weekend

     A few weeks ago, I noted that before I worked in an office Fridays didn't really mean that much to me.  But now that I do, I really really like them.  The reason they didn't mean much to me before is because I usually had to work on the weekends; a slave to the world of food service/retail.  The weekend didn't mean as much.  I didn't get those awesome two days off that you get when you have a grown-ups job.  Not that I was complaining about it (I did complain about it sometimes), but it was just a fact.  The nature of the beast if you will.
     My first week in the office I was basically high on enchantment.  And as the week went on, everyone kept looking forward to it being Friday.  It seemed they truly were working for the weekend.  I observed. 
     A few months have passed and now I totally get it.  It's amazing how quickly the transformation happened.  I love Fridays now.  I totally get it.  I say "Friday" in a hushed tone out of respect.  Waking up on Friday is like waking up on Christmas Eve the Wednesday before Drunkfest.  You know the big day is right around the corner.  Head down and power through, your pool of jello and giant screen TV are at the other end of the tunnel.  Or whatever your fantasy might be. 
     Now what I'm dealing with is the pressure of the weekend.  It's only two days, and I gotta make that jello pool count.  Of course if there really was a jello pool, it would totally count.  That's not the point. Around 1 pm on Friday afternoon I start getting anxious.  What am I going to do with my weekend?  Am I going to stick to the plan?  Will I go grocery shopping and do the laundry and act all grown-uppy?  OR, will I watch every conceivable minute of sitcom reruns and movies I can get my hands while while stuffing myself with carbs and sugar?  Honestly, lately, it's been a healthy combination of both.  Walking that ever narrowing line between adolescence and adulthood.  Adultolescence.
     And there is more to this story, but I just received a text requesting my presence at a party, and I cannot disappoint my fans.  The HIMYM marathon will wait until tomorrow.