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Hallo-Wasn't
Nov. 1st, 2012 09:53 amYesterday was Hallo-wasn't. It started off well enough. I did my pumpkin prep work, I cleaned a bit, I fixed up the luminary bags I painted, experimented with those eyes in the bushes thing that went around Pinterest/FB, I did my PPG dress up and celebrated Kinz style. I made toasted pumpkin seeds (delicious for the first couple of bites but then all the chewing just annoyed me, so I have a batch of these things that no one else has eaten and I'm a very sad panda about it), and took pictures of the 80's pics (since the scanner is no more), and the house was like 97% ready. I collected rocks to anchor the bags, I carved Frankie (...oh. my. ghoul!) and stuck with it when I couldn't tell what I was doing anymore. I took my shower. I did my laundry so I'd have warm clothes to wear trick or treating.
Widget came home and I managed to cut the lid off his pumpkin (usually I end up screwing that step up, so Mums did Frankie's for me), and things were going so well!
The luminary bags were outside and looked fab in the sunshine so I was hoping they'd look better at night, Mums had gone to the store and returned with glow sticks and tea light candles for the bags and I was practically a Disney princess as I flitted around doing things.
I was just bringing the phones downstairs, along with a candle for my bookcase display, when I told Ozma I'd be back to see her soon. Took one step down the stairs and slid.
Here's the thing. I grew up with stairs. See yesterday's photos. I'm lounging on the stairs, no big deal. We've got a variety of steps and stairs in the house now. Law of averages will tell you I've fallen down the stairs before. I have. I will whimper to the animal that finds me, or cry to my mommy for a second but if I mention it to someone else, it will be immediately followed with the next part of the story because it is not a big deal.
If there is no next part of the story, or I call you on the verge of tears, it is a Big Deal for some reason or another.
I have never actually tumbled down the stairs. I've slid, I've sort of twisted down the stairs, and maybe there was a mini tumble once, but I have never gone and found myself in the "holyfuck why is my face heading for the floor before my feet!" position. Ever.
Ever.
So I land, still holding the phones and the candle and the bag of glowsticks, and for a second I've got nothing. Not even "ow." I blink and my first coherent thought was "my glasses!" but they survived the fall, although they were terribly askew because I fucking fell down the stairs. Not slid. Fell. Ass over teakettle, legitimate worry about neck breaking as it happens (I dunno, maybe not legitimate. But it happened, the thought I mean), fell down the stairs.
And then I realize Mums is telling Widge to get his dad. Um, yeah. Because when you fall down the stairs and land in the catbox, you want an audience for this, right? Comprised of the most judgmental person you know, right?
But I get why she did it. She thought I was going to be all broken bone-y about it, and y'know, fair enough.
Instead I'm lying on the floor, in cat pee (because the cat has been deliberately missing the box), and I can tell that unless the universe is totally messing with me, I haven't broken anything. Except, apparently, my dignity.
So I test out this theory and sure enough, I can move enough to kind of scramble away from the catbox so at least I'm not lying in that when the boy appears. While doing this I realize I have skinned the ever loving shit out of my knees, shins, and my left elbow. Carpet burn, man. What. The. Hell.
The assessment is made that I'm not broken and yeah, socks. Who knew that listening to the internal Dad and his "put something on your feet!" diatribe would kill Halloween?
I stand up, testing the whole "not broken" theory and when I do, I realize I didn't just skin myself, I pretty much made it impossible to wear anything warm enough to trick or treat. So I tell the boy he'll have to take Widget trick-or-treating.
Which is met with less than thrilledness because I gather the boy is... I dunno. In pain himself or something, but he was gone til 1pm after staying out all night so I just chalked it up to being massively hungover.
Also, fell down the stairs, landed in cat pee, and skinned my joints (right elbow has chimed in saying "don't forget me!) and will now be missing my favorite day of the year and I... might be on the verge of tears because not only do I hurt but I'll be missing Halloween!
Still. I soldier on because the house will not decorate itself and the Widget needs his costume and he will go trick or treating! Let's do this! But first, I'm going to change because ew. I... may have cried bitter, bitter tears (and this year I'd put my makeup on before the last minute so I'd be ready when the first trick or treaters arrived!) at missing my favorite day of the year, on a year when it's legitimately Halloween weather! Suck it up, self. You still have lights to light and a Widget to see off to the candy filled Elysian fields. Also, I think a date with a first aid kit might be in order.
But then the boy huffs off and since Mom and Widget are acting like he just pulled the plug on trick or treating, I point out that Widget's new friend called right before my little... accident. Maybe he was calling to see if Widget could go trick or treating with him?
Now. Please note that I have probably been upright for maybe two minutes, and 1 of those was spent crying as I changed. I come back and despite the fact that I look like I fell down the stairs, cried about it, and have a dire need to bandage my owies, I'm dealing with everyone else's bullshit. Which makes me feel worse.
It's not every day you fall down the stairs in such a dramatic fashion. Shouldn't someone be asking if I need help with opening the first aid kit? Someone? Anyone? :/
Things go downhill from there and I don't cry pretty and I realize my right elbow is bleeding (as is my right leg!) and whatever I did to my left elbow while trying to bandage myself up seems to have made things WORSE, and Widget still has no one to trick or treat with. (His friend can't go because his mother has Bible Study.) So I call Cass to ask if she's still coming over or not. Annnnnd I get brushed off, even after I explain it wasn't me asking if she was joining us for trick or treats, but me asking if she'd take over the adult responsibility role. Because by now I'm a giant ball of Ow. Ow. OW. No.
As my left arm explodes into super pain (what did I do to you, arm?) I hang up and eventually the boy returns and is all "where's my dinner and when do we get this show on the road?"
He hadn't rescinded his no, he'd just been his typically bitchy self over the state of the nuked chili. o_O
Then Widget's friend calls back and is upset because he can't go trick or treating (he didn't know before Widget asked earlier) annnd Widget is all "I'll get extra for you" and then friend asks if he can go with Widget (because lightbulb?) and Widget is about to say no when I tell him to duh, ask the Boy. And he does and the boy is surprisingly cool about it.
Oh, look. Not only is Halloween going to be fine (told Widget so as I slowly limped up the stairs to get his costume) but hell, it'll be even better... than it would be with me going. Self pity, activate!
I turn on the lights, the Boy cracks the glow sticks because Target's $1 ones are a bitch to crack, and I basically continue what I was doing until they set off to pick up Widget's friend and then return, only to set off for trick-or-treating goodtimes.
I would like to point out that any time I asked someone to do something for me, and it was only if doing so would actually fucking hurt me to do it and it wasn't outside their realm of expertise, I was met with hesitation every time aside from the boy cracking the glow-sticks.
To complete this mental picture, I'm wrapped in guaze, limping, bleeding, and still trying to get shit done.
Stuff gets done, pictures are taken (not as many as usual and the boy would not take the camera to get a couple of shots of the fun decorations and the Widget being cute) and... I'm home.
At home. On Halloween. :/ With nothing to keep my mind off them, my injuries begin to sing anew. Dinner is lasagna, yum, but it's Halloween and there are no trick or treaters (we had two visits. One Widget handled and one somewhere around 8pm) and... and the house looked so pretty.
The luminary bags lit up the drive way perfectly! The eyes in the bushes didn't really work unless you were right on top of them, but they were nifty then. The front room was dizzingly pretty with purple and pumkins in the window, and my Frankie pumpkin was too pretty for words.
But I was home on Halloween and not even Ghouls Rule made it better.
Widget came home and his bag was pretty close to bursting. His friend had an equally full bag and they were all excited. Aww.
But the pumpkins never made it to that "smell them burning" stage unless you stood right over them, and things hurt and all I could think was "and then tomorrow I have to go back to work."
Turns out I was jinxed. The boy complained earlier this week about me always being the one to take Widget trick or treating and I thought for about 2 seconds about how nice it would be to sit in the front room and bask in the glow of the Halloween lights... and I'm thinking the cat jinxed me too.
So that was Hallo-wasn't.
On the plus side, and this is a considerable plus, the Frankie!Lantern was pretty friggin' awesome. See for yourself:
( Whine outside cut, pretties inside! )
Widget came home and I managed to cut the lid off his pumpkin (usually I end up screwing that step up, so Mums did Frankie's for me), and things were going so well!
The luminary bags were outside and looked fab in the sunshine so I was hoping they'd look better at night, Mums had gone to the store and returned with glow sticks and tea light candles for the bags and I was practically a Disney princess as I flitted around doing things.
I was just bringing the phones downstairs, along with a candle for my bookcase display, when I told Ozma I'd be back to see her soon. Took one step down the stairs and slid.
Here's the thing. I grew up with stairs. See yesterday's photos. I'm lounging on the stairs, no big deal. We've got a variety of steps and stairs in the house now. Law of averages will tell you I've fallen down the stairs before. I have. I will whimper to the animal that finds me, or cry to my mommy for a second but if I mention it to someone else, it will be immediately followed with the next part of the story because it is not a big deal.
If there is no next part of the story, or I call you on the verge of tears, it is a Big Deal for some reason or another.
I have never actually tumbled down the stairs. I've slid, I've sort of twisted down the stairs, and maybe there was a mini tumble once, but I have never gone and found myself in the "holyfuck why is my face heading for the floor before my feet!" position. Ever.
Ever.
So I land, still holding the phones and the candle and the bag of glowsticks, and for a second I've got nothing. Not even "ow." I blink and my first coherent thought was "my glasses!" but they survived the fall, although they were terribly askew because I fucking fell down the stairs. Not slid. Fell. Ass over teakettle, legitimate worry about neck breaking as it happens (I dunno, maybe not legitimate. But it happened, the thought I mean), fell down the stairs.
And then I realize Mums is telling Widge to get his dad. Um, yeah. Because when you fall down the stairs and land in the catbox, you want an audience for this, right? Comprised of the most judgmental person you know, right?
But I get why she did it. She thought I was going to be all broken bone-y about it, and y'know, fair enough.
Instead I'm lying on the floor, in cat pee (because the cat has been deliberately missing the box), and I can tell that unless the universe is totally messing with me, I haven't broken anything. Except, apparently, my dignity.
So I test out this theory and sure enough, I can move enough to kind of scramble away from the catbox so at least I'm not lying in that when the boy appears. While doing this I realize I have skinned the ever loving shit out of my knees, shins, and my left elbow. Carpet burn, man. What. The. Hell.
The assessment is made that I'm not broken and yeah, socks. Who knew that listening to the internal Dad and his "put something on your feet!" diatribe would kill Halloween?
I stand up, testing the whole "not broken" theory and when I do, I realize I didn't just skin myself, I pretty much made it impossible to wear anything warm enough to trick or treat. So I tell the boy he'll have to take Widget trick-or-treating.
Which is met with less than thrilledness because I gather the boy is... I dunno. In pain himself or something, but he was gone til 1pm after staying out all night so I just chalked it up to being massively hungover.
Also, fell down the stairs, landed in cat pee, and skinned my joints (right elbow has chimed in saying "don't forget me!) and will now be missing my favorite day of the year and I... might be on the verge of tears because not only do I hurt but I'll be missing Halloween!
Still. I soldier on because the house will not decorate itself and the Widget needs his costume and he will go trick or treating! Let's do this! But first, I'm going to change because ew. I... may have cried bitter, bitter tears (and this year I'd put my makeup on before the last minute so I'd be ready when the first trick or treaters arrived!) at missing my favorite day of the year, on a year when it's legitimately Halloween weather! Suck it up, self. You still have lights to light and a Widget to see off to the candy filled Elysian fields. Also, I think a date with a first aid kit might be in order.
But then the boy huffs off and since Mom and Widget are acting like he just pulled the plug on trick or treating, I point out that Widget's new friend called right before my little... accident. Maybe he was calling to see if Widget could go trick or treating with him?
Now. Please note that I have probably been upright for maybe two minutes, and 1 of those was spent crying as I changed. I come back and despite the fact that I look like I fell down the stairs, cried about it, and have a dire need to bandage my owies, I'm dealing with everyone else's bullshit. Which makes me feel worse.
It's not every day you fall down the stairs in such a dramatic fashion. Shouldn't someone be asking if I need help with opening the first aid kit? Someone? Anyone? :/
Things go downhill from there and I don't cry pretty and I realize my right elbow is bleeding (as is my right leg!) and whatever I did to my left elbow while trying to bandage myself up seems to have made things WORSE, and Widget still has no one to trick or treat with. (His friend can't go because his mother has Bible Study.) So I call Cass to ask if she's still coming over or not. Annnnnd I get brushed off, even after I explain it wasn't me asking if she was joining us for trick or treats, but me asking if she'd take over the adult responsibility role. Because by now I'm a giant ball of Ow. Ow. OW. No.
As my left arm explodes into super pain (what did I do to you, arm?) I hang up and eventually the boy returns and is all "where's my dinner and when do we get this show on the road?"
He hadn't rescinded his no, he'd just been his typically bitchy self over the state of the nuked chili. o_O
Then Widget's friend calls back and is upset because he can't go trick or treating (he didn't know before Widget asked earlier) annnd Widget is all "I'll get extra for you" and then friend asks if he can go with Widget (because lightbulb?) and Widget is about to say no when I tell him to duh, ask the Boy. And he does and the boy is surprisingly cool about it.
Oh, look. Not only is Halloween going to be fine (told Widget so as I slowly limped up the stairs to get his costume) but hell, it'll be even better... than it would be with me going. Self pity, activate!
I turn on the lights, the Boy cracks the glow sticks because Target's $1 ones are a bitch to crack, and I basically continue what I was doing until they set off to pick up Widget's friend and then return, only to set off for trick-or-treating goodtimes.
I would like to point out that any time I asked someone to do something for me, and it was only if doing so would actually fucking hurt me to do it and it wasn't outside their realm of expertise, I was met with hesitation every time aside from the boy cracking the glow-sticks.
To complete this mental picture, I'm wrapped in guaze, limping, bleeding, and still trying to get shit done.
Stuff gets done, pictures are taken (not as many as usual and the boy would not take the camera to get a couple of shots of the fun decorations and the Widget being cute) and... I'm home.
At home. On Halloween. :/ With nothing to keep my mind off them, my injuries begin to sing anew. Dinner is lasagna, yum, but it's Halloween and there are no trick or treaters (we had two visits. One Widget handled and one somewhere around 8pm) and... and the house looked so pretty.
The luminary bags lit up the drive way perfectly! The eyes in the bushes didn't really work unless you were right on top of them, but they were nifty then. The front room was dizzingly pretty with purple and pumkins in the window, and my Frankie pumpkin was too pretty for words.
But I was home on Halloween and not even Ghouls Rule made it better.
Widget came home and his bag was pretty close to bursting. His friend had an equally full bag and they were all excited. Aww.
But the pumpkins never made it to that "smell them burning" stage unless you stood right over them, and things hurt and all I could think was "and then tomorrow I have to go back to work."
Turns out I was jinxed. The boy complained earlier this week about me always being the one to take Widget trick or treating and I thought for about 2 seconds about how nice it would be to sit in the front room and bask in the glow of the Halloween lights... and I'm thinking the cat jinxed me too.
So that was Hallo-wasn't.
On the plus side, and this is a considerable plus, the Frankie!Lantern was pretty friggin' awesome. See for yourself:
( Whine outside cut, pretties inside! )
