A slow sunrise over the city.  Heading back to the airport with Michael Buble crooning over the speakers.  I don't want her to go.  But this is the way the world works.  Sisters get older.  Sometimes they move away.  But they never stop being a sister.  Or a friend.

 

I don't want her to go.

 

[Four days earlier]  It's the middle of the frickin' night and I am driving on rain-slicked back roads with Papa in the passenger seat thankfully not pointing out each and every time I hydroplane.  I'm anxious.  Skywalker is coming home for our birthday.  I have not seen her in a million years.  She has been living it up out in Colorado.  I am cursing the MIT nerds for still not perfecting teleportation and blabbing to Papa nonstop.  Repeating myself.  Saying stupid s**t.  It's at this exact moment I realize how much I missed her.  Faithful readers will know that we're twins.  No...that does not mean she is a doppelganger.  We do not share a brain.  I cannot feel her pain.  She's just my best friend.  That's enough for me.  That's all she ever has to be....

 

Get to stupid BWI and park, Papa reading off the quadrant we are in just in case I forget how to retrace my steps back to the car during the 20 minutes it takes to pick someone up.  <chuckle>  I poke fun at Papa, mostly because he is either completely oblivious to it or chooses to ignore me.  That's cool.  I appreciate his calmness in moments like these more than he knows.  All the coffee shops are closed which is totally ridiculous.  When could you better use a cup of steaming caffeine than in the middle of the night?  Haven't been to the airport in a while but not surprisingly they still have the Threat Level announcements broadcasting to everyone in predictable 15 minute intervals.  I don't even know what Orange means anymore.  I'm sure if it was bad...the announcement would be a little longer.  Something new that I haven't seen before was the radar with little plane icons blipping across the screen, showing you where impending arrivals are at that exact moment.  Her flight number blips up still outside of Baltimore.  Blip.  Blip.  This is like watching water boil.  Blip.  Blip. 

 

People are deplaning, so I stare because I'm bored and anxious.  Some of the freakiest weirdos deplaning here at BWI in the middle of the night, let me tell you.  My favorite was 'I'm With Stupid', huffing and puffing, sex indeterminate striding through the security gates with purposeful conviction until it saw the sign for Baggage Claim and then the inner struggle played out before my very eyes - take the escalator, take the elevator, escalator, elevator, escalator, elevator.  Stupid made a few false lunges toward the elevator and then opted for the escalator.  <shaking my head>  Ahhhh...if only that was the most difficult decision in my life right now.

 

Skywalker calls and despite the cursed time-lagging lying blipping icons, she actually has landed.  Awesome.  More awesome when I see her.  She looks happy.  And that is just frickin awesome.  I miraculously remembered where I parked the car and we head back to loverly Germantown.  Chit chat, end of a hockey game, baked ziti and off to bed because we're ancient and need as much sleep as possible.  Tomorrow is a big day.  I need to get my retarded license renewed at the retarded MVA because I'm totally retarded and totally forgot.  Great.  Also on the list of places I'd rather not hang out on my day off - the MVA.

 

They call it the 'Express' office which is just a blatant slap in the face.  Nothing works any faster, Express my ass.  MVA employees get paid bonuses the longer they take to do things.  More weirdos here to stare at.  And then just staring at the number board waiting for my number to come up.  I'm B110.  We're on B101.  B102.  G37.  What the hell?!?!  That's not even fair.  That's making up your own rules and then breaking them!  I hate this place.  Finally, it's me.  Vision test which is a total joke.  And then Speed Racer behind the counter asks if my address has changed.  Nope.  And then she goes, 5'1" and 135 pounds?  Hahahahaha...yeah sure honey.  That's hilarious.  First of all, anyone looking at this horrific picture will probably think the weight refers to the pumpkin noggin alone.  And second of all....<shaking my head>.....why in the world am I lying on my driver's license?  What kind of ridiculous denial is that?  I'm living in Fantasy Land where if the MVA stamps it into a hologram then it must be so.  Stupid...

 

Barbecue for dinner, catching up with the Parentals and then off to watch them ballroom dance.  We enjoy watching them because they have so much fun.  Not to mention they look absolutely fabulous doing it now.  Fred and Ginger.  I also enjoy the ballroom dancing scene because it is like stepping through the looking glass.  My mother asked us to be polite if anyone asked us to dance.  Uhhhhhhhhhhh...nobody told me that was a possibility.  This could end badly.  Then...just in case anyone in the entire studio missed the fact that we were there....they announce it.  With a microphone.  Fred and Ginger's kids are here.  And it's their birthday!  Oh sweet Jesus...if only I'd asked the MVA Speed Racer to put a 'graceful elegant 135' on the stupid license.  All in all a good day.  Skywalker got me a LiteBrite and a Darth Vader mug.  The Parentals got me a slicer/dicer/weapon against home intruders and some moolah for shopping (preferably for something that wasn't black).  And the Hubby announced we will be adding Cat #2 to the mix.

 

That's right ladies and gents, you heard it here first.  Pumpkin will be getting her very own sidekick to slap around.  The new addition will be Pecan.  I have decided that naming cats after pies isn't weird, it's funny.  I doubt the blood-sucking vet will agree with me...Back home after a shopping marathon and dinner again with the Parentals.  A slow Friday night, more hockey and more chatting and the Hubby decided we needed a fire.  This should be interesting considering we haven't had the chimney cleaned in several years.  I mention this and get the Man-huff that means 'do not question my judgment in matters that concern fire'.  It's never dull in our house people....at any moment the creosote coated chimney could catch fire and send flames of neglet shooting from the top of our house.  Never dull.

 

The house did not burn down and the Hubby definitely gave himself a point for correctly predicting this outcome. 

 

Saturday was more visits and more chatting and more driving to and fro and more stupid rain.  And then that slow creeping feeling that this was all almost over.  Watched some Top Chef together.  Decide that Michael is cuter than Brian even if he does seem to have anger issues.  Head off to bed early since we're ancient and need our sleep...did I mention that already?  Except I can't sleep.

 

Thanks to daylight savings magic, the drive starts out in total darkness.  Save the daylight.  The highway is empty in a way that is sort of eerie.  Not many people ever see a Sunday morning from this perspective.  The drive takes hardly a moment and we're there.  And she's heading off.  And I'm hugging her, saying take care of yourself and write to me.  Like it was just another day, except we're a little bit older and she's moved away.  And she heads back through the security gates, with a big smile.  It was the kind of smile that only truly happy people have.  It was the kind of smile you wish for everyone you love.  It was the kind of smile that was kind of contagious.  It's hard not to be happy around happy people.

 

Even when you're crying.

 

Take care of yourself.  And write to me.

 

Later gators,

Heather

 

 

 

 

It’s raining.  Crap.  I have never hated the rain more than I do tonight.  Tonight, you see, was supposed to be the most perfect Halloween night we have had in ages.  I mean….aaaaaaaaages.  A Saturday and not frigidly cold.  It’s dark before 6 o’ clock.  And I am prepared.  Very prepared for this, my most favoritest holidays of the year.  The house is decked out in especially creepy garb this year.  I have skeletons hanging from the light outside.  My ghosties are doing their dance around the creepy tree strung with orange lights and the windows…..ahhhh….did I mention the windows.  The windows have my normal silhouette masterpiece.  I have to say, it looks totally awesome.  I limited myself to one pumpkin this year so I could spend gobs and gobs of money on candy.  Because I expect to have hundreds of little costumed freaks banging on the door all night.  I am ready.  And then it started to frackin rain.

 

<sigh>  This is no good.  No good at all.  It’s not a heavy rain, but probably enough to make the especially small ghouls and goblins cold after only an hour.  And did I mention that my neighbors are totally lacking in the spirit of things?  Yeah.  Let’s talk about my loser neighbors.  The people who never leave and can’t park their car straight have no decorations.  The drug dealer has no decorations.  The international spy has less than no decorations.  I am extremely disappointed.  How in the holy hell are any kids going to be lured into the cul de sac if only one frackin house has any lights up.  I mean, how hard is it to carve a pumpkin?  Come ON!!!

 

Please see the pictures I have added to gain a better understanding of this disaster.

 

Actually, I need to digress for a moment and point out that it actually can be difficult to carve, well not a pumpkin, but a gourd.  Gourds, I assume include acorn squash.  But I like the word gourd better.  I think if we get another cat, I’ll call it Gourd.  That would be hi-larious.  Anyhoo…I saw a few pictures of some carved acorn squash in Martha Stewart’s magazine of deceit.  And of course thought, well that looks cool, let me try it.  Which I assume is what that sadistic woman envisions everyone doing when they see her scenes from Satan.  So I bought two gourds (aka, acorn squashes), one big and one little and thought this will be so original.  I also assume that you can gut a squash like you can gut a pumpkin…most likely because I have never cut up a squash before.  My mother cooks squash and cooks it well.  The Hubby would never eat something orange unless it was deep fat fried in beer batter so I don’t bother cooking it myself.  I lopped off the top of the gourds and much to my dismay….they are not hollow.  Do not laugh at me, gentle reader…seriously…how was I supposed to know this?  Here’s the more important question…how the frack did the Martha Stewart She-Devil get those pictures of what appear to be hollowed out gourds?  I have added them as well for your pondering.  My best guess is that she has sold her soul and can manipulate matter with her mystical powers from the netherworld.  That…or photoshop.

 

So, back to the night in question.  I have parked myself next to the front door in the delusion that some kids may still be coming by.  The door bell is broken so I hung a sign that explains the kids have to knock.  Kids of course have no idea how loud a knocker is on the inside of the house and so they will invariably be banging it with all the strength their twiggy little arms can muster.  My little waiting station is stocked.  I have my laptop hooked up with Shaun of the Dead playing.  A grown up drink ready to be slurped down, pigs in a blanket baking in the oven, a fan, a chair to put my feet up on, a camera (you never know when you’ll need photographic evidence a misdemeanor) and an extremely uncomfortable chair from the kitchen which is the only one I felt motivated enough to drag down the stairs.  The grown up drink is my own personal interpretation of a tequila sunrise and by interpretation, I mean of course I made it with rum because the Bacardi was on sale and let’s face it…these days….sales rule my life.  Point number 2, equally important though, good liquor will make any interpretation of any drink taste just fine.

 

The minutes are ticking by and the movie is playing and I am becoming increasingly more agitated and irritated and inebriated.  Where are all the bloody kids!  Damn it!  I have ten pounds of candy just sitting here, staring at me….goading me into eating it.  This is no good at all.  I get through a whole rum rise before the first kid starts banging on the door.  ‘Jesus Christ!’ from upstairs where the Hubby is trying to watch some college football… ‘They’re gonna break that thing down!’  I chuckle because he has never been that into this holiday and he mocks my efforts to overdose the neighborhood on sugar.  I am however, glad he has some sports to watch tonight so that he doesn’t have to wait on me.  The Pumpkin who has been stalking around my little station trying to convince me with her psychic mind tricks that she needs a pig in a blanket or she will starve to death, goes streaking up the stairs.  She does not enjoy visitors, especially ones that are lower to the ground than me. 

 

The kids are adorable of course, with their TRICK OR TREATs and their thank yous and their little costumes.  Lots of Michael Jacksons this year.  But they are coming very few and far between.  I cut off the normal-two-to-a-kid rule way earlier into the night than normal and I start telling the greedy little sugar monsters to take handfuls.  Alas, I am sitting here now at 9pm….which is the witching hour for the little ones….with bags of the diabetic coma inducing crap.  This is no good.  I even walk outside to see if I can scope any impending visits and banging on the door….and much to my dismay, the neighborhood has gone dark.  All my loser neighbors have turned their lights out.  What is THIS?!?!  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  Now there is no chance any kids will be coming down here…

 

The pizza bagels are out.  It’s 9:08 and the door starts banging.  Time for the teenagers and their not really costume costumes.  Their handfuls are, thankfully, much bigger than the little ones.  So half the bowl goes in one visit.  Fabulous, there is still hope that I will not be forced to consume what is left of the chocolate.  The Hubby, who is a freak from outer space if I have never mentioned that before, doesn’t really like candy.  I know.  I think he must have been dropped on his head as a baby.  Time for another rum rise and the door bangs again…I’m almost sure I’ve seen one of these kids earlier in the night and I don’t even care.  Take as much as you want.  The Hubby is falling asleep watching the World Series be delayed.  I usually wait until 9:30 to stop handing out candy.  Maybe I should just put the rest of it out on the doorstep.  I’m sure somebody will take it….

 

Yeah, so I considered that for all of three seconds before a Reeses peanut butter cup (which was made by the devil) beckons me.  I have now eaten so much sugar I feel like vomiting all over the cat who is giving me her usual look of apathy.  All in all the night was a total disaster…too much candy left.  Not enough kiddies.  No tricking and not really treating.  The Hubby is snoring on the coach now…I guess baseball does that to some people.  So I figure I can watch Saw III on the dvr upstairs, with the rest of the pizza bagels….and a few more goobers….and lemonheads….and maybe a snickers.  Or two.

 

Happy Halloween gators,

Heather