Nickname I Have Given The Giant Bag of Halloween Candy That Is Currently Taunting Me From My Pantry

Kit Krack

Ghoul Power

Attention, Ladies! It's October, y'all, and you know what that means--Halloween, baby! And, if you're anything like me, and really, who doesn't want to be, I'm sure you just LOVE LOVE LOVE this amazing Pagan holiday!! Why, just think of all the fun this special day brings: the smashed up pumpkins rotting on the lawn, the Hershey's Miniatures that aren't so miniature once they've moved on to your ass, the neighbor's creepy graveyard decorations that force you to have a discussion about the after-life with your young children...oh, for the love of God, somebody hand Mama her sequined pumpkin t-shirt from Target 'cause this Ghoul's Gonna Go Wild! Rowrrr!

And what's the most exciting part of this exciting day? Uh-huh, girl, you know it...dressin' up! After all, what could be more awesome than wearing a flammable, 100% synthetic polyester outfit from The Costume Barn to your dentist's annual Boos and Brews party? Hol-lla! Yes, ladies, Halloween is the one night a year we perimenopausal schlubs get to escape our hum-drum, suburban lives and pretend to be someone else for a whole two to three hours! (Four, if the babysitter's a loser with no social life.) It's all the fun of being an actress without any of those pesky insecurity issues and cocaine addictions to hold us back. Boo-Tastic!

But, unfortunately, while we all love wearing costumes, we don't always love picking them out, do we? In fact, how many times have you found yourself standing in the Hallow-Fun! aisle, looking at the rows of $40 costumes made out of tissue paper and toxic Korean glue, and thinking, "Gee, I'd really like to look like a cheap male fantasy, but isn't there a way I can also promote Female Empowerment?" Well, my friend, hang on to your broomstick, because now the answer is YES!

Yes, this year you can look both SEXY and SMART on All Hallow's Eve! You can show the world how powerful, accomplished, and majorly stacked we women really are! You can stand up for women's rights while sportin' more boobage than an underage Reno pole-dancer with daddy issues! Yes, ladies, this Halloween, you can look like you're turnin' Tricks while you're actually Treatin' womankind!

Presenting The Hallo-Womeen Costume Collection!

Choose from:

1. Slutty Neurologist*

2. Smokin' Hot Nuclear Physicist

3. Sexy Ass Social Worker

4. Leggy Criminal Rights Attorney

5. The United States Secretary of Skank

6. Bangin' Body Brenda, the PBS Documentarian

7. The CEO of Cleavage, Inc.

8. Dirty Girl Governor

9. Trashy Tina the Fulbright Scholar

10. Barbara Walters*

*vibrating stethoscope included

So don't wait! Get your costume today! And make this Halloween the scariest one EVER!

The Volunteer State

Hell---ooo! It's me, Jennifer!

Oh...hi, Jennifer. I didn't see your name on the caller ID...before I picked up the phone.

Listen, I'm calling because we DESPERATELY need volunteers for the school's Autumn Festival. Did you get my e-mails?

Yes, Jennifer. All 25 of them. You should work for an an online Viagra company.

Funny! Now, can I count on you to work a few hours in the Harvest Hoedown booth this Saturday?

Well...I'd just love to, Jennifer. Really. Handing out Texas flags made out of turkey jerky is just so rewarding. But, unfortunately, I can't do it because I'm deathly allergic to hay. It's pretty serious. In fact, just last week I had to stab myself in the leg with an Epi-Pen after walking through the decorative scarecrow section at The Hobby Lobby.

Well, that doesn't matter now because...there's no hay this year! I'll see you Sat...

No, wait! Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait! I still can't do it because I have a ...a...doctor's appointment!

Skip it.

It's a CT scan.

Reschedule.

I mean triple bypass.

Stop eating red meat.

But, I also have plans to go to a...birthday party!

Send a card.

A funeral.

A sadder card.

The Cohen's Bar Mitzvah?

Nice try, shiksa.

Seriously, Jennifer, I'm scheduled to go into work that day.

Call your boss.

I'm a hooker.

Call your pimp.

OK, I hate to say this, but I'm a drunk.

Who cares?

A meth addict.

So what?

A mentally unstable narcoleptic transvestite?

Who isn't?

Listen, Jennifer, the real reason I can't work in the Holiday Hoedown booth is because I just so happen to be the leader of a shadowy CIA splinter group and Saturday is the day we all go to an undisclosed location to interrogate witnesses and wiretap pizza parlors. Plus a whole bunch of other top-secret covert oppish thingys I can't talk about. And if I'm not there, America's freedoms, not to mention Democracy's very foundation, might be shaken to their very core. I'm sure you understand.

Is that it?

Uh, yeah.

You're sure you're done?

Uh-huh.

Then listen to me closely, girlfriend, because I'm only going to say this one time: you gonna get your pathetic little bitchass punk self down to that booth on Saturday or things be gettin' ugly reeeaaalll quicklike, see? You think I got to be Special Events Chairperson because I take "no" for an answer? Oh, hail to the no, Dorothy. So's what I want you to do right now is pucker up them chapped little lips of yours and start kissin' on my big white, tennis-skirted ass because this mother ain't lettin' NOBODY get in the way of making this the best damn Autumn Festival of our precious children's lives. Now, you pickin' up what I'm layin' down, beeyotch? Or does I needs to say it again?

No, ma'am, I understand.

And?

And I won't ever try to get out of volunteering again. I promise.

And?

I'll see you Saturday.

It's All About MeMe

The wonderfully named Buns of Strudel has tagged me with something called a meme in which I'm supposed to tell eight things about myself. I've seen others do this in a very thoughtful, open manner and really share themselves with the world.

Not me.

You see, rather than spend a few moments in quiet introspection in which I may actually grow as a person, I've decided instead to remain true to myself. And, of course, by "true to myself" I mean I'm just going to write down a few things in my usual half-assed manner, then hope it has more literary merit than a Wal-Mart circular. Eye of the tiger, baby.

Here goes:

1. I once videotaped a brain surgery under false pretenses. I'd like to now officially apologize to that particular patient for later turning the footage into a student film called, "Dr. Bob: Hell's Neurosurgeon".

2. Years ago, I spent the night in Howard Hughes' old guest house that used to be right off the Vegas strip. I imagined I heard his fingernails scratching on the walls all night, but it was still better than staying at CircusCircus and imagining clowns scratching on the walls all night.

3. My favorite movie is Apocalypse Now and I find it immensely amusing to yell, "I love the smell of cat puke in the morning! Smells like...victory!"

Nobody else in my house finds this amusing.

4. My husband and I had our picture taken with George Clooney at a Hollywood party once. In the picture, George is the great looking guy in the middle. We're the two blobs of vanilla pudding on either side who look like we're in need of liver transplants.

5. I have an unhealthy relationship with Benadryl allergy medicine.

6. One time in Reno, my friend Megan and I finally overcame our shyness and got up on stage to sing karaoke in a contest. We thought our rendition of "Muskrat Love" was going propel us to first place, until the next act got up and sang a version of "My Girl" that got the crowd roaring.

We found out later they were three members of the original "Temptations".

7. I am something of a savant at Pop-A-Shot basketball and am waiting for the day I can turn pro.

8. My first car was a sky-blue Nova that smelled like split pea soup when the heater was on. Also, it didn't go in reverse. I drove it for three years until my dad sold it to a migrant farm worker for $100.00.

So that's it. Fascinating stuff. Buy the movie rights now while you still can, people. Oh, and I think I'm now supposed to tag other people, but sadly, I'll need to do it later as I've run out of time. I hear there's a Pop-A-Shot tournament at the downtown arcade and I don't want to be late.

Le Moron? C'est Moi

Bonjour! Welcome to Paris! Are you checking in?

Yes! I mean, "Oui"! My nom es Aarons.

(frantic typing on hotel computer) Ah, I see you right here. Wan day?

Excusey? One day? No, I'm here for five days. Cinco days. Wait, wait, "cinco" is Spanish, isn't it? And you're French, so let me think...un, deux, trois...ah, CINQ! Cinq du jours! I'm here cinq du jours!

Oui. Alors...Wan day?

No, not ONE DAY! Shit! Sorry. I mean, merde! It's five! It should be right there in la computer. Five days! Can you check again, por favor? Do some more la typing? Le click-click?

(more frantic typing) Bien. Wan day Aarons.

No, not one day! Je suis in Paris por five days! Can't you just add more days? Please?

Je ne sais pas. We are booked.

Crap! I am le screwed! I'm up le merde creek! What am I going to do? Where am I going to stay now? Should I call the American embassy? The Texas embassy? Is there a youth hostel nearby? And if so, what's the age limit at those places? Is it 30? I can pass for 30, don't you think? Well, maybe not now after my 45 hour flight, but usually I can if the lighting is low and my hair's over my face like this. Wait! Starbucks! I bet the people at Starbucks can help me! Is there one of those around? Cause those baristas always know how to take care of business. They get shit done, man. I think it's part of their training, actually. Right after their frothing lessons and...

Excuse me, Wan day?

Yes?

You are Wan Day Aarons?

Yes. Oh. Wait. Is "Wan day" actually "Wendi"? Is THAT what you've been saying all this time? Not "one day"? Ha! I'm sorry I didn't understand you. But I guess that means I'm actually in the hotel for five days, right?

Oui.

So, that's great, isn't it?

Oui. C'est...fantastique.

Well, then. Merci.