Spooktacular

Halloween came and went again. A co-worker said at our Halloween party that she doesn't celebrate it because it's a "pagan holiday." I wanted to grab her face and ask, "So do you boycott Christmas too?"

He and I went to his parents house for some soup in pumpkin bread bowls and a little spooky cheer. It made me miss the days of spending hours deciding what to dress up as and making my costume (oh wait, I did that this year, but I was cute) and then half that long out wearing it, roaming the neighborhood blocks with my pillowcase (I didn't, however do that). Every year we vowed to go until our pillow cases were full. And every year I got so frozen after about an hour I decided to nix the candy and head home. It's just impossible to bundle up when you're dressed as a fairy princess in pink tights.

We used to always make a stop at the Beesley's Halloween party to eat scones and warm up with some cider. Ideally, we'd time making the pit stop half way through our night and use the warmth as a moment to recharge. I can't remember a year where I didn't hear this while boogieing on their deck.

Maybe the best part of Halloween is coming inside after a night of knocking doors, emptying our cases and examining the loot. Even though I saw every piece before it fell to the bottom of my pillow case, it was always a surprise to lay them all out and see what I got. I realize now that my OCDness was spawned early as I meticulously laid out the candies, turned them all the same direction, and put them in piles according to kind, size, and color. There always seemed to be a miscelaneous pile of obscure candies that those folks who haven't figured out yet that no one likes to eat the Necco Wafers. (Those who do probably like raisins too. And that's just disguisting).

We went to a few dances and I shook my groove thang. After we watched this. There may or may not have been some screaming.