All Hallows' Eve Eve

Dude - I had a very weird dream last night. I was blind for a little bit, then at a movie premiere for some ridiculous film about dogs that flew planes in World War II, then screaming at an old high school acquaintance for taking my date to the Christmas Dance that was taking place in May, then my Mom was yelling at me for yelling in public, and finally I think I was drowning in taffy.

Thoughts?

Anyhoo - tomorrow night is Halloween. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I'm usually overly excited at the prospect of kids in my building trick-or-treating up and down the floors. This year is no different. I'm a sucker for kids in poorly-constructed constumes, and I'll be overjoyed if I get even two kids wearing sheets at my door. I've got Starbursts! Spread the word!

I went to CVS last night to buy the candy that will most likely sit on my counter for months on end, being offered to guests who have a poor sense of taste and/or smell sometime around Arbor Day. When you walk in the store, there's a huge sign directly in front of you that says, "We will not be selling eggs or whipped cream to minors again until November 1st. CVS - We care about our community". While I appreciate their effort to be a daunting part of the neighborhood watch, there are 435 other stores in the area where lil' hooligans can get eggs and shaving cream. I live 2 blocks away, and I pass no less than 8 delis, grocery stores or pharmacies back to my apartment.

While I was checking out, three youngish Spanish kids were in line behind me. Maybe 10 or 11 years old. They were each holding a costume they picked out, and were screaming at each other in alternating Spanish and English. Most of the argument was about who was going to wear what and, frankly, quite boring. But just as I was turning to leave, one of them hollers in the other's face, "Whatever, puto! Be a ghost! Did you take your Mom's debit card or what?!?!" I don't know why - but I found that hilarious. And I was tempted to offer to buy them all the eggs and shaving cream they could carry.

So it's been a while since I posted. What have I been doing? Well, I went to Cleveland via Buffalo for my cousin's baby shower. Seriously - what's with all the babies this year? Chillax, everyone in my life. I can't take another discussion about bibs that match booties and what butt paste is for. (Oh yeah - there's such a thing.)

I also went back to Buffalo recently with my friend Sylvia. I'm starting to think that maybe I make Buffalo sound like a Third World Nation when I talk about it, because every time a friend comes back to visit, they're shocked at all the modern amenities and stores. We were driving back from the airport, and as Sylvia was looking out the window, I heard her exclamations of disbelief:
"Whoa! Holiday Inn!"
"Oh, you guys have a Linens-N-Things here? You never told me that."
"Shit! Arby's!"

Now I know Buffalo may not be a thriving metropolis, but we do well enough to warrant an Arby's. And don't let anyone tell you different.

I'm trying to decide whether or not to get up at a decent hour on Sunday morning and head out to my old neighborhood to watch the NYC Marathon. It really is an awesome experience - you get to see so many different types of people racing - young and old, professional or in a wheelchair, French or someone who intends to finish the race (snap!), and it's a truly inspirational day. And I know it means a lot to everyone racing by that I'm there to help cheer them on, by yelling and clapping. But not the whole time, because my throat gets sore and I have to take time out to drink my fancy coffees. And have you ever tried to clap your hands for 5 hours straight in November weather? That's hard. No one can fault me if after clapping for a good 17 minutes I need to sit down and moisturize my hand for the next 3 hours. If you think it's easy, I suggest you put your money where your mouth is and cheer for yourself. But you should probably train for at least a year before-hand.

WebMD Is The Worst

You go on there to look up a something to settle a bet, but then you get distracted: What is that? Are those the symptoms of cholera? Because I have some of those....

2 hours later I'm convinced I'm suffering from fibromyalgia and hysterical pregnancy, and I've decided to finally finalize my will, just in case the pertussis gets the best of me.

Anyway - attention DC fans of sketch and stand-up comedy and my face: Tickets to the Poonanza 6 on December 13th are now on sale at www.dcimprov.com! Or you can just click this link.

There will be an 8:00pm and a 10:30pm show that night, so you have a wealth of choices. (Or just the 2 choices) All 5 previous Poonanzas have sold out - so don't wait to get your tickets. Or do wait - I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I just think you should comb your hair so your bangs aren't hanging in the way of your pretty face.

I Got Nothing

So instead, enjoy this montage of clips from "Arrested Development":

You Know You've Become An Adult When...

You get a text from a friend that reads as follows:

"Officially divorced. High motherf**king five."

Ahahaha. Awesome.

Step By Step

No, I'm not in Rehab. I am referring to a song by the reunited New Kids on the Block! (Or NKOTB as they would like to be called now, since they've grown up and finally embraced their love of acronyms).

As I think I've mentioned before, the NKOTB concert was a present for my sister's birthday this year. We got to the Borgata in Atlantic City on Saturday about an hour before the show started, and right before the doors were opened. The line to get in stretched around for what seemed like miles, and it was composed almost entirely of women ranging in age from late 20s to early 40s. There was a sprinkling of dudes - most of whom either looked tortured and were trying to hide behind their girlfriends, or had brought homemade "I Love Jordan" shirts from home (read: gay). A lot of chicks took the concert to heart as an opportunity to relive the golden era of 1986 - 1992, because...come on. Who wouldn't want to? There were side ponytails and leggings under jean skirts as far as the eye could see.

The opening act was some kid who looked like he drove his Dad's Hummer straight from the Jersey Shore to the show. The bad tan, the huge diamond earring, the dark hair rendered immobile by the unholy amount of gel in it, and of course the requisite button down shirt opened completely to reveal the wife beater underneath. Needless to say, I hated everything about him.

But when NKOTB took the stage, it was like the plot of a bad Disney movie (except without the involvement of Tim Allen or Judge Reinhold) - all of a sudden every girl in the room regressed to the age they were 20 years ago, the screaming began, and I proceeded to have one of the best times at a concert that I have ever had in my entire life.

The rest of the evening is a blur of alcohol and euphoria - though occasional events seem a little clearer. I do remember talking to a very disgusted casino employee who was selling t-shirts at the show and questioning why women would even like "a bunch of queers" like the New Kids, and lamenting the fact that no woman seemed to care that he had his own motorcycle. I cared very much that he looked like Argus Filch from the Harry Potter movies:

More soon.