Jokes and candy

Knock, knock. 

Who's there?

For who?


No, no- for whom. 


That's my most favorite joke ever, people. Just in case there was any question about how much of a nerd I am. Also: http://xkcd.com/971/

Happy Halloween, everybody! I hope nobody's car/house/anything got egged or otherwise ruffianized. It's kind of sweet, actually, being on this (adult) side of Halloween, with the giving out of candy and whatnot. Like, these kids come to the door, and making their day is literally as easy as handing them a piece of candy. Handfuls of delight.

I think tomorrow I'm going to try and figure out a way to make someone's day. I think it's a fascinating idea. Is it a compliment? A gift? A favor? A well-timed joke? (See example above.) I'll let you know how it works. Tomorrow I plan on being the human equivalent to an ice cream truck. Get excited, world.

rkb

Catch Up and Other Nonsense

So, I'm just going to say it; I ignored the fact that I had a blog for awhile.  But now I'm here, and you can't get rid of me.

Every time I go into work on the latter part of the week (Thursday-Saturday), I have this horrible nervousness.  My chest gets tight, heart pounds, you know, the whole enchilada of terror.  I hate going in on these days, not because I care about having my weekend free, but because these are the days I find out what my schedule is the week after next is.  Ugh, I hate finding it out, because half the time I'm not happy with how it's been scheduled.  I'm a pretty lazy person, to be honest, and I don't like it when they treat me like an actual worker.

Which brings me to my next crisis: the day after Thanksgiving, also known as BLACK FRIDAY.  Not only does my retail employer think that it's fine to make us get up at 3 am to get to work at 4 (and some employee's, like our Asset Protection guy has to get there at 2), but then assigns us 10 hour shifts.  Now, I'm stuck between my desire to never work that day ever and my integrity.  Of course I've requested the day off, but I don't know if that will be declined (probably will).  My only option then is just to call in and say, "Can't come, sorry."  Most of my co-workers think that, if I've told them I can't work that day, and I tell them I won't, it's okay because they knew from the start I wouldn't show up.  But isn't that... a bad thing to do?

Anyway, That's a month away, and hopefully it will all be straightened out before then.  My bosses aren't horrible people, and are usually pretty understanding.

Halloween is Monday.  I always used to participate as a kid--as Pinocchio one year, a dalmatian a few years in a row, black cat (without the sexiness) another, etc.  One or both of my parents always used to come with me.  Nothing can replace that feeling when you arrive home, candy sack in hand, and dump out all the glorious candy on the floor with that crisp plastic crinkle noise.  Then comes the sorting; chocolate candies were always keepers, but pixie sticks were out of there like underwear.  Sometimes I would keep the smarties, sometimes not.  But those Bit O'Honeys and Now and Laters, I would give to my mom, with the Tootsie Rolls of course.  I didn't really like chewie candies back then (still don't unless they are fruit flavored).

I'm pretty sure my parents didn't have to ration my candy, but maybe they did have final say on how much I could eat at one time.  There's only a few candies I will absolutely gorge myself on, but most of the time, I forget that I have them.  Christmas candy, for instance, has sat in my closet pretty much untouched for the better part of a year.  Not that I don't want the candy, but because I have this insane need to make it last until next Christmas.

Next time (tomorrow), I will continue my discourse of Halloween.  But now I feel like this may be getting too long if I say all my piece.

See you then.
M&y

As promised

So, my dad told me about this writing contest for Halloween.  This actually just came to my attention last night, so maybe it was meant to be that I would start writing, eh?

It has to be 450 words or less.  Below is what I have so far.  Not sure how I feel about it, but it was the first idea, so I went with it.

Working title:  Rule Number Five.  This is all unedited, or "raw," so save your harshest criticisms.

They had seen me.  I was told never to let them see me.  It was rule number one, and I had blown it.  I leaned against the door, shivering with nerves as I felt the three of them walking on the other side of the door. 

What had he told me?  Rule number one, don’t let them see you.  I had to scratch that one off the list.  Rule two?  My mind wound in on itself, trying to remember while my body shuddered.  Oh, yes, don’t underestimate them. 

Rule three, rule three… I wish I could have delayed my arrival by one night, or all of this wouldn’t have happened.  But I was never one for timing.

Right disappear or misdirect them—that was rule three.  I had tried that one already.  They hadn’t followed me to this room.

I closed my eyes and listened for them in the hallway.  They were talking, laughing roughly and knocking on the old walls.  I felt one give way, and I jumped. 

Suddenly, I remember.  The lock!  Oh my god, I forgot about the lock on the door.  My thumb traced the knob behind my back.  No no, it was too late for that.  They would hear the rusty mechanism and know where I was. 

I gasped like a fish for water, my head blurring with panic.  The rules, the rules.  Rule four?  Rule four, rule four… Don’t lead them back to where you live.

But they had found me where I live—those three wearing their outfits fit for hell.  I was told if I had kept the lights off, none would come.  And now three were in my house.  They spotted me in the window and pointed and gawked.  They forced the feeble front door open and were searching for me, jeering and laughing.

Now they knew where I lived.  I had heard stories of this happening to others, and it was never good.  More of them tended to show up, stomping and yelling, sneaking and lurking around the corner.  They violated you, chased you, like some disturbed game of cat-and-mouse.  Fighting back almost always made it worse—more would show up.  An infestation of them, trying to catch you.

The floor whimpered close to the door, and one of their voices traveled through.  “Hey!  I wonder what’s in this room!”

I was left with no time to react; the door opened and the three came inside.

“Dude, it’s freezing in here!”

“What’d I tell you, this place is haunted!”

I stood, eyes frozen wide. 

Rule number five, if you’re home is declared haunted by the humans, no other spirits may help you.  And you may never leave.