Happy Halloween

Well the day of the devil is upon us. And I shall give you my Top Ten Favorite All Hallow's Eve moments:

10. When my Granddad baked for me a pumpkin birthday cake. He was a baker, and the thing looked exactly like a pumpkin. I think I cried when they cut it.

9. When at age 16 I took two girls I babysat for Trick or Treating, and I dressed up as a flenser (who loved Judy Blume?). Which was perfect because it was pouring out and it the costume involved a rain jacket. I am not telling what flenser is, look it up.

8. The fact that my brother dressed up as Dracula for about 7 years straight. Conversations usually went like this: "Hey, Michael Jaymie, what do you want to be for Halloween this year? Dracula? Really? Wow."

7. The fact that after a while my brother and I got smart in the ways of Halloween and used not the Halloween themed plastic small bags (which would always rip from the weight), but king sized pillow cases, and as for those pumpkin carriers - pure amateur hour.

6. The Great Candy Trade. Nothing beats free candy, but trading with your inept sugar frenzied cousin 3 Smarties and a Rollo for a full size snickers bar might even be better.

5. The fact that I never went berserk on Halloween - egging, shaving creaming, or toilet papering anything because I believed in the sanctity of the tradition. And before you ask, I was a loner in high school.

4. My pillowcase clown outfit that my mom made. It was fantastic. She sew pillow cases together, painted my face, put my hair in pig tails, and gave me a red bulbous nose. It was a phenomenal costume, and handmade.

3. Trick or treating in the projects. I grew up in Charlestown in the projects, which meant that each building had about 20 doors to knock on, and the candy was incredible and this one guy gave dollar bills out. I remember at the time thinking he was the best person I ever met in my entire life. Makes me almost want to give out money - but I just spent $17,000 on a new sewer pipe, so I don't think so.

2. My garbage can outfit. Which remains the best costume I ever came up with - basically I bought a plastic trash can, cut out the bottom, put shoulder straps on it and then wore the cover as a hat. I completed the look with these nasty brown and black tights and a garbage bag for my candy. Aside from people throwing my candy into the actual barrel I was wearing, it was the best. So basically, I loved being trash and I think my life all makes sense now.

1. Owen's First Halloween, which is today. He's a skeleton and so cute - photo above. I love that I get to do this all over again. Yeah!

Happy Halloween everyone.

Happy Birthday To Me

I have officially entered my mid-30s. Hello thirty-four. Did you know that is 17,870,400 minutes of being alive? You dwell on that. So in honor of this momentous occasion, let it be known, that I Cassandra Michele Catherine McCall, have added another moisturizer into the routine. I don't think marking another year of your life is better expressed than with a new moisturizer. So in addition to my alpha hydroxy peels, my Clarins moisturizer, and my tinted MD Skincare moisturizer I have now added MD Skincare's Hydra-Puree Antioxidant Firming Serum. Yep, nothing says Happy Birthday than the fight against wrinkles. Not that I am deluding myself. I understand that as I age, my skin will lose its elasticity and droop. I have a degree in biology after all, but I am thinking with good genetics, moisturizing, and the drinking of plenty of water, I can ward off the potential ill effects of aging upon my skin. There are two things I have learned from talk shows (well two things that I think are most important). The first was when I was 15 when I saw Bill Cosby on Oprah wherein he stated that water and drinking lots of it was the key to healthy skin. Needless to say as a 15 year old who just got 3rd degree burns on my face from combining Noxzema and Clearasil as an overnight mask, it had impact. The second thing I learned from talk shows, and it has nothing to do with beauty routines, was Jackson Pollack. Phil Donahue did a show about him - showing some of his art, him painting, and basically I fell in love. I can't remember how old I was, but I loved it. And after reading a biography of Mr. Pollack, I have wanted to see Blue Poles Number 11 in person. It is currently on exhibit in Australia. Someday I hope to visit. So, I guess that is my birthday wish, because I have already been blessed with a lovely son, wonderful husband and great friends. Sorry for the sentimentality, but sometimes the inner dork comes out. Speaking of inner dorks and Alice in Wonderland lovers, to all those not celebrating their birth today - Happy Unbirthday!

Happy Almost Halloween

Well it is Halloween, or almost. I love Halloween, probably because my birthday is tomorrow and I have had a host of Halloween themed birthday parties. This photo is from a party 3 years ago - which happened to fall on my birthday. It is my good friend Amanda. I don't think there is anything better than photographic evidence of your drunken misadventures, especially when they involve putting a carved pumpkin on your head. So in spirit (boo!) of the season, I do believe that this week of blogging with be in keeping with Halloween. Wait until you see the pumpkin I carved yesterday.

A Baseball Story

Although this photo is a tad old, it is in keeping with the spirit of the moment and that is a loud and proud: Go Sox! I just finished reading an anthology in which women writers talk about raising sons. For the most part it was great, although there were a few ladies who told the story of crying when they found out they were having a boy, and these were not tears of joy, but with time they came to love the idea of a son. Some people I tell you. I guess being a tomboy; I had no qualms with having a boy, and perhaps in a certain respect have preferred it. Although I am sure that if I was blessed with a girl, it would be equally fulfilling. How could it not? Another theme in this book was the assigning of gender roles to children. As in it is okay for boys to cry, not like sports and wear pink. All of which is fine and dandy, but these women planned on outright defiance of the gender roles set by society. Most of them met an acceptance that even though they may force the doll, most of their sons preferred trucks. One writer prided herself on her son's lack of the male love of sports. Which is fine, I guess. I have come to age in a generation of feminist son-raising women, and I have found that some boys my age indeed do not like sports and some given the alternative tide of the 1990s found it a selling point. I can't even recall the number of guys who would say "I am sensitive, and I don't like sports." Which I am sure would make many a girl giddy, but always in me it would produce a smirk and then the immediate thought of "Oh jesus, what a pansy". I was raised on football, and horrid football at that - the 1980s New England Patriots. I remember sitting with my father and praying the game would not be blacked out although often, it was. I love playing tackle football at daycare, and thought maybe I could make it a career. Also I was one of two girls in Babe Ruth Baseball (age range 13 to 15). I was an excellent second baseman, but my male coaches would always regale me to right field - a/k/a home to the losers. Of course, due to my super competitive nature, I decided to remedy this. I practiced constantly with my brother, my swing, my catch, my throw, all in order to prove that I did not belong in right field for 4 innings, but rather on the infield for the entire game. So one game, I did amazingly. I hit a triple, a double, and caught every fly ball that came to me in my isle of loserdom. And as the game ended, my coaches gathered the team around, I felt happy that finally I would get the recognition I deserved, only to be met with the following "What the hell guys, even the girl is doing better than you." So there it was a bitch slap with words. Needless to say, I continued in right field for the next two years hoping for justice and receiving none. However, I did learn the life lesson that some people are complete assholes no matter what you do, but this is not a reason to stop trying. So, to the weekend and to the Sox!

Overheard on Muni

Yesterday while riding Muni home (don't I sound just like a San Franciscan?), I overheard the following conversation:

Twenty Year Old 1: Ah, did you ever see that movie Risky Business?
Twenty Year Old 2&3: Nope.
Twenty Year Old 1: Well there's this scene where he eats a girl out on a train.

I think that is all I have to say here. First I was astonished that someone had not seen Risky Business and second I was immediately grossed out that someone would use that term with a high octave voice on crowded public transportation. In fact, I don't think I was alone in this as it seemed the entire train just stopped for those brief moments of shock. I think that phrase just will always in me cause a tad bit of nausea because eating out should be referencing a meal not at your home that includes tip, not a buried face in a female's genitals. And I swear, I am not a prude.

Delayed Backache

While watching the Red Sox whoop ass on Sunday evening, a commercial for one of the ever present ways a man can get the bone back in boner came on the air. One of the many possible side effects stated was the following: "Delayed Backache." Oh really? You mean to tell me that some guy over 50 who has not had sex in a few months is going to pop a pill and go at it like there is no tomorrow may have a delayed backache? Wow. Shocking.

Closet Discovery and Menarche Morn

A few weeks ago I was looking at some old photos and saw one of me in a maroon cardigan. At that moment I said "Whatever happen to that sweater? I must have lost it." So this morning, imagine my joy when I discovered said sweater. Of course, I immediately called myself an idiot as the sweater had been in my closet for almost a year. This happens to me a lot. I guess I don't pay attention to the particulars. Or more likely, the fact that I attended Catholic school ingrained a love of the uniform, which at my age has translated to pants, t-shirt, cardigan, flats. Repeat in assorted colors. So because said cardigan was not in my routine, it was neglected. Poor cardigan. However, welcome back to the fold. Speaking of maroon things, I have fully returned to womanhood. Yesterday morning I woke up to my period. My last period occurred March 4, 2006, so needless to say it has been a while. Of course, my sheets required immediate washing, and my pajama bottoms were destroyed but once again I am among the bleeders. I feel special. And no cramps! Not sure if this is going to be a continuing trend, but my mother always told me that my cramps would be less with the birth of a child. And egads, I think the lady is right. We can only hope since my consumption of 15 advil a day to ease the pulsating pain was a bit unbearable. However, my phrase of "It feels like a posse of drunken monkeys is in my belly fighting for the last beer!" might have to be retired. Such a shame. So to the monthly curse I say to you - welcome back. Of course, this means I am also fertile again. Yikes. Also, I am unsure of this, perhaps 80%, but I do believe some kid shouted at me from his car, "MILF". I felt both pride and disgust as obviously he thought I was cute, but although with the birth of Owen this is a club I have joined, my membership I care not to flaunt. Thank you very much.

The Ballad of Night Man

Not sure if you are familiar with the FX Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia, but the above produced in me hysterics not matched in over a year. I have seen this over 20 times and each time it is continues to be funny, which one would think impossible, but no.

The Dreaded Baby Germ

Well it seems that my fight with baby germs is almost concluded as is evidenced by the never ending supply of green snot in my nose. It seems no matter how hard or how much I blow, what escapes is replaced in about 2.5 seconds. I don't get it. Although I did some research today on green snot, and it seems that this is evidence that my immune system is waging a war it is winning. You go T cells. I'll be honest, when hearing that baby having equals getting sick a bunch, I scoffed. Why? Well, my immune system has been fighting off viruses, bacteria and other sickly woes with a cunning and agility not unlike that of the ninja. Its mastery of killing disease has basically rendered me healthy with nary a sniffle for a good 8 years. However, now that I have Owen Harborer of Health Horrors, my immune system has been riddled with disease, overpowered by The Dreaded Baby Germ (there should really be some music here - preferably of the 1940s gumshoe style). One would hope that The Dreaded Baby Germ would easily succumb to an adult's immune defense, but no - not unlike the baby itself those bloody germs get into everything causing headache, anxiety and fear. I don't think there has been a more miserable time in recent years for me than this Saturday when John woke me to feed Owen and put him to bed. As I sat reading Ten Little Ladybugs and Goodnight Gorilla, tears formed, and I thought death was imminent. Thankfully Owen went to sleep without issue, and I returned to bed with a box of tissues and hatred of the fact that when sick and nursing - there is no Nyquil heavenly bliss. There is nothing but chicken soup, water and lozenges. I can deal with being sick if given the opportunity to consume a half bottle of Nyquil and retire into a den of deep sleep and delirious thought, but it is quite another thing to be ill, nursing and taking care of a baby. Damn you baby germs!!! I hate you. It has also come to my attention that perhaps my conquering of illness in years past is not at all related to the super ability of my immune system, but rather the fact that my daily blood alcohol level hovered around 0.10 thereby pickling any invader into my bloodstream - deep thoughts indeed. Thankfully this illness is passing, and I am now 20 years old in Big Brain Academy. That is the youngest your brain can be. Yes, applaud me. (Sorry for the Nintendo DS Lite reference, but a girl in times of sickness, must find happiness in other arenas).

Obsession

I love, love, love this song, this video, this band. I can only say that I hope some day to see them live. I even turned off the new Radiohead for a listen - now that is saying something. Anyway, to Animal Collective, Peacebone and love amongst the aliens. Also, look how cool I am posting a video to the blog. Yeah me.

I am a 12 year old boy . . . .

Because I find this funny (and was the block composer of words). Also because I went to the movies to see Reign of Fire - you might remember this movie from years past. It was about dragons and starred Christian Bale and Matthew McConaughey. I went because it was about dragons. The sole reason - although it did have the requisite male eye candy. The movie was terrible, but as I sat in the theatre and I took a look around at the other viewers, there was no one over the age of 12 or female. So, yep, I am a 12 year old boy.