Study and I visited the North Florida Fair on Saturday night. As fairs go, I’ve seen much better, but the food from local vendors was terrific. A beautiful family cooked the most delicious grilled shrimp just for me.
The highlight of the evening was the carousel. I’d never seen a double decker carousel before!
The Ferris Wheel looked spectacular lit up against the November sky.
Studly ate all of his favorite fair foods: chicken kabobs, corn dogs, and funnel cake. Amazingly he still manages to keep his churlish figure. 😍😉
Perfect night. G,night all!
Two cats square off
One nose down
One on tippy-toes
One was creeping and
One was hiding
And caught her sister
I’m between assignments at my schools. Pretesting has ended and my portion of the intervention won’t begin for another two weeks. My life went from 90 mph to a slow crawl in the span of a weekend.
So now I’m left to ponder all of the little things that have been neglected during these past few fast and furious weeks. Such as, how did that spider manage to spin a web across three-fourths of my living room undetected? And how is it that a tub of yogurt in my fridge soared past it’s expiration date without ever having been opened?
Obviously I’m not a multitasker. Honestly, I’m not even much of a monotasker. Once work picks up again I’ll be focused solely on getting the job done to the exclusion of everything else in my life, but for now I’m a slug.
From following Facebook I have learned that a good many of my friends suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, or S.A.D., that melancholy feeling that arrives as the amount of daylight grows shorter and the nights grow longer. Sunlight, it seems, is critical to our well-being and happiness.
But I would like to offer an alternative explanation for the onset of S.A.D.–the end of the Halloween candy. That the two events occur simultaneously cannot be viewed as coincidental. S.A.D. sufferers are grieving. To support my claim I offer the 5 Stages of Candy Withdrawal:
Once the candy is gone and one has searched every little nook and cranny for one last full-size chocolate bar the mind kicks into denial. “Surely that couldn’t have been the last Snickers!”
“What in hell were you thinking eating that Three Musketeers? My mom was right, I should never have married you.” Or
“After all I went through to bring you into this world and you didn’t save me even one bar of candy? Ungrateful children!”
After realizing that Anger and Denial are wasted emotions, “I’d give anything for one last KitKat. My firstborn, my Christmas bonus. Anything!”
“The candy is gone. Oh, what a world, what a cruel, cruel world!”
5) Acceptance will arrive sometime in the spring, just about the time the Easter Bunny plops down some Peeps in the kiddies’ Easter baskets.
In the meantime, accept the S.A.D. for what it is–an absence of chocolate–and indulge! Remember, we are grownups and can have candy any time we please. No tricks or bunnies required.
Have you ever watched truTV? It’s filled with content such as “World’s Dumbest” and “Impractical Jokers.” Basically, it’s crap. Studly is entranced by truTV, ergo, crap entrances my spouse.
This evening’s viewing included a countdown of the world’s dumbest criminals. In spite of myself I watched to ascertain which criminals make the top 10. Will it be the naked guy who attempts to rob a convenience store saying he has a gun in his pocket, or will it be the woman who attempts to knock over a fast food place by pointing a gun through the drive in window?
I don’t know if I’m more disturbed by the content or by my willingness to watch it non-stop from 7 p.m. until bedtime. Granted, at my age bedtime is often 9 p.m., so that’s only two hours of mediocre programming.
I guess I pictured us watching quality television during middle age. Stuff with a purpose like “Planet Earth” or “Cosmos.” Yes, I could go into another room, but then I’d miss out on discovering the number one world’s dumbest criminal. I’m betting on the guy who wrote his bank robbery note, “Give me all your money” on the back of his own phone bill.
Pajamas are a must for me. I’ve tried sleeping in the nude, but I always have outrageously awful dreams when I do, such as I’m shopping in a supermarket and suddenly realize I’m buck (butt?) naked. In these I try frantically to hide behind the shopping cart as I continue shopping, because everyone knows that shopping carts are super concealers of nudity.
I’ve also dreamt that I’m naked as a newborn and sitting in a classroom. As soon as I discover that I’m sans clothing I pull my knees up to my chest and continue answering test questions in hopes that no one will spy my boobs just hanging there like overripe fruit.
Other naked dreams have me attempting to put gas in my car and attempting to hide between the pumps. Another includes a dilemma in which my clothing is clearly visible, but it is on the other side of a room full of people. In this one, I attempt to move ninja style, crouching and rolling in order to reach my clothes.
When I sleep in my well-worn p.j.s I just have normal dreams of talking cats assisting in my escape from islands inhabited by spear wielding cannibals. Maybe this is why I suffer from insomnia.
Our leaves don’t really do much in the way of changing here. So far I’ve seen no garnets or golds other than those on the clothes adorning the fanatical fans of Florida State football. The morning temps are much cooler, though, than they were just two weeks ago, and the afternoons are gloriously sunny and warm. If I had a friend, we’d sit out on the back porch and drink our coffee as we watched the light play across the lake. Instead, I watch Criminal Minds and CSI:Miami reruns and do laundry.
But I imagine adopting a certain languor while reclining in the early November sun, an SPF 50 or above on any exposed body part. Even in my imagination I must be skin conscious. My non-existent friend offers to fetch us a drink refill, but no, I insist on getting it. We’ve exchanged our coffee for tea now. Sweetened for her, unsweetened for me. I hang up some clothes while I’m inside the house and start another load.
When I return, Adam Levine is stretched out on the chaise longue. He tells me my other friend had to leave to do laundry of her own. I’m momentarily uncertain of my next step, but Adam accepts the tea and we continue talking as if nothing has changed. Adam begins singing a song he’s composed just for me. I might be in love. With Tallahassee.
As old as I am I can never resist buying a sometimes silly, sometimes significant souvenir when I visit a theme park or site of historical significance. Even if it’s not my first visit. Even if it’s my 59th visit, I still require a tangible marker of my trip.
This summer I visited Disney World twice within a span of four months and I bought a souvenir mug on trip one and another on trip two. Like I could forget that I’d been there without them.
This past weekend I went to Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios. I looked all that evening for the perfect souvenir–a Walking Dead hooded sweatshirt that touted a visit to Terminus. Unfortunately, this must have been an incredibly popular sweatshirt because all that remained were men’s sizes small and XL.
I’d just about resigned myself to leaving without a reminder of my visit when I saw a refreshment kiosk selling an alcoholic beverage called a “Dead Walker” that came in a souvenir glass with pulsing LED lights. Damn! I needed that. Never mind that the concoction included an energy drink that would keep me awake most of the night.
The drink was tasty and I was particularly proud of my classy glass. I kept it close to my body as we navigated the last of the houses of horror–a place called “Giggles and Gore” filled with clowns of nightmarish proportions. I used the glass as a shield against these sideshow terrors. When we returned to the hotel I placed the glass in one of our car’s backseat cup holders so I wouldn’t accidentally leave it behind. I’d bonded with that cup.
The next morning we set off for home. Studly and my brother-in-law Steve in the front seat, my sister-in-law Angie, the cup, and me, in the backseat. We stopped at a Denny’s for breakfast and then were back on the road. We hadn’t driven more than half an hour when Angie made an urgent request to stop the car. Her face was a hue of green I’ve seldom seen outside of cartoons. I realized that Studly would not be able to stop before Vesuvius spewed. With only a second’s hesitation I offered up my souvenir glass as a receptacle for her vomit. And vomit she did.
Studly, by then, had safely pulled off the road. Angie opened the door and finished her business in the wild flowers on highway 428. I’ve never been a litterer, but by golly, my souvenir glass now takes up a small space of real estate in Central Florida. I hope I can remember my trip without it.