"Purple People Eater" Dilemma

Matt:  Was it purple monster who ate people, or was it a monster who only ate purple people?  Because if it was the latter, I have nothing to fear.  But if it was the former, then I won't even see it coming.*

*Matt is red/green colorblind and believes the color purple to be a conspiracy.

Weekend in Pictures

Yes, my costume included a foam menorah and lots of messy hot glue.  I burned myself more times than I'd care to admit.

 Werewolf Bar Mitzvah furry scary gloves.

 Mmmmm.  Favorite cookie made with peanut butter M&Ms.

 It's never not cute when he does this.

 Ahh. . .open window days.

 

 This is where Matt put the Halloween candy so that I could easily find it and hand it out to the trick-or-treaters.  Really, Matt?  Trying to prevent more Butterfinger fugue states?

The Dude and Werewolf Bar Mitzvah.  It was when I saw this picture that I knew with complete certainty that I married someone cooler than me.  And smarter.  Shoot.  At least I'm better than he is at shapes.

Fugue State

Here's the thing.  We live on the last block of a dead-end road.  And, as far as trick-or-treaters go, we will only get them if I've forgotten to buy candy.  If I buy candy, however, we will get not a one.  So I buy candy just in case, so that I don't anger any little mutants on the off chance that they will appear at our house in lame-o costumes like "a student" or "a football player" or "a kid."  (Nothing makes me more angry than trick-or-treaters who aren't in costume.  Dress up, dammit!)  Today I told my students that when I get non-costumed trick-or-treaters that I kill them.  I went on to describe the trick-or-treater graveyard in our back yard and to complain about the mess that ensues after killing so many non-costumed candy beggars.  (I'm pretty sure they knew I was joking.)

Okay, so back to the candy.  This year's candy is a Butterfinger trio: classic bars, crisps, and these little snacker things that aren't very good.  And, let's be honest, I only chose a candy that I would like to eat myself.  Or bake with and create special treats for other people.  But really to eat myself.

So in the last 26 hours, I've eaten approximately 7 of these miniatures.  Okay, fine.  I'll deal.  But what I can't deal with is eating miniature candy bars like some sort of zombie.

Tonight, before we got dinner ready, I decided to snack on a miniature Butterfinger Crisp.  Matt told me to stop eating before dinner, so I offered him a bite and we agreed that the candy is quite good (kind of like a Little Debbie Nutty Bar, only better).   

But then I kind of blacked out.  Next thing I knew, I was standing in the kitchen holding a miniature classic Butterfinger--or, shall I say, half of a miniature classic Butterfinger.  I don't even remember getting it out of the bowl or unwrapping it or anything. 

It was a fugue state.  And, when I did some research on the world wide web about fugue states, I discovered:

• The person in the fugue appears to be functioning normally to other people. However, after the fugue experience, the individual may not be able to recall what happened during the fugue state.
• Some fugues appear to protect the person from suicidal or homicidal impulses.

Here's what I'm thinking.  My Butterfinger fugue state just saved the lives of some non-costumed trick-or-treaters.

Boys Becoming Men. . .

I'm getting pretty pumped because this time tomorrow, Matt and I will transform into these two.

Will you excuse me as I fashion a yarmulke from a paper plate and some fabric? 

If you're bored, just listen to the full-length version of my current favorite song.

What are you being for Halloween?

Chewy Caramel Popcorn and Pretzel Bars

I just have a few things to mention about this recipe.  First, it is featured in the current issue of my friend Martha's Everyday Food, which you should probably subscribe to.  Second, I added Reese's Pieces, because, in my opinion, Reese's Pieces make everything better.  Third, I was a little "meh" about them, but then found that I couldn't stop eating them, so I guess I was a more "mmmmm!" than "meh."  When I took them to school to have my coworkers and students finish them off, they were all "mmmmmmmmm!"

So, anyway, here goes it.

Chewy Caramel Popcorn and Pretzel Bars (from Martha Stewart's Everyday Food, October 2010)

Ingredients
Nonstick cooking spray
12 cups plain popped popcorn (from 1/2 cup kernals or 2 microwave packages)
4 cups coarsely chopped small salted pretzels

2 cups sugar

coarse salt

2/3 cup heavy cream

2 cups miniature marshmallows

Directions

1. Coat a 9 x 13" baking dish with cooking spray.  In a large bowl, toss together popcorn and pretzels.  In a medium saucepan, bring sugar, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 cup water to a boil over medium high.  Boil, undisturbed, until mixture is amber in color--8-12 minutes.  Remove pan from heat and slowly pour in cream (mixture will sputter).  Immediately add marshmallows; stir until melted.

2. Pour caramel mixture over popcorn and pretzels and quickly stir with a rubber spatula to coat.  Transfer mixture to dish and use a piece of plastic wrap coated with cooking spray to press evenly into dish.  Sprinkle with coarse salt if desired.  Let cool completely before cutting into bars.

**Note: I made half with Reese's Pieces and half without.  People overwhelmingly preferred the Reese's Pieces variety.

True Blood Post Mortem

Mitch is really excited about the new directions the story is taking in True Blood.



He's going to be a werewolf for Halloween.  Either that, or a dalmation.

Productive Like Monica

[source]

Day three of the self-improvement plan, and I'm a regular Monica Geller. Man, do I ever feel improved! I was so busy improving and organizing and being productive yesterday that I didn't even have time to blog! Since Sunday I have:

• not taken a single nap (this is a much bigger accomplishment than it may seem!)
• gone to bed much earlier (between 11:30 and 12:30--not early per se, but way better than my previous 2:00 bedtime)
• ellipted every day (so that I can eat the entire bowl of Halloween candy and sleep like a champion)
• turned in my first quarter grades two days early (and was crazy productive all around at school)
• grocery shopped for the next 2 1/2 weeks (meal planning extraordinaire!)
• forced myself to get up 10 minutes earlier than my usual wake-up time (this is the biggest achievement of them all--next thing you know I'll be showering daily!)
• packed my lunch for school (to prevent ravenous inhalations of food upon returning home)
• still found time to snuggle with a dog (my life's purpose)

I don't have to go to school tomorrow (horray for furloughs?), so I'm really looking forward to sleeping in, enjoying the crisp air and the quiet no-screaming-teenagers Wednesday, and, of course, being even more productive.

I'm a Baller

BAKING SODA CAN GO BAD. Know this. It seems to go bad very quickly in humid climates. (Such as my pantry in Savannah)

Case in point: Thursday's vanilla cupcakes. I've made these cupcakes at least a dozen times. But this time they resembled the Great Plains. I feel like I'm going to see a prairie dog pop out of them at any moment. Dammit.
But I'm cheap, and I didn't want the cake to go to waste. It still tasted good; it just wasn't fluffy and beautiful.

And I remembered that I had seen this recipe for these cake ball things. Something about crumbled cake mixed with icing, rolled into balls and coated with chocolate. The first time I heard of them I thought they were pretty stupid, but I figured I'd give them a try. I already had some vanilla cake and some pumpkin cream cheese icing. Why the hell not?

When I told Cassie that I was making cake balls, she responded, "Ew, don't make those. They're so handled." But Cassie's judgmental, and I'd washed my hands. So I mushed that shit together. And it looked like, well, shit.

But I thought I should keep an open mind. I'm always so judgmental myself, and I should try out new things, even if I might think they're stupid.

So I balled them up.

And stuck them in the freezer.

And I whipped out my white chocolate chips.

And started to melt them using a double boiler.

But they weren't melting very well.

So I stuck the bowl of semi-melted white chocolate in the microwave.

Where it began to cook/burn from the inside out. Dammit.

I returned the chocolate to the double boiler, added some buttermilk, and began to stir. Looking better. . .

And I started to coat those balls!

And they looked decent enough. (Kind of like super decadent doughnut holes!)

And when I bit into them, they tasted like. . .

SHIT. F'ING DISGUSTING!

The verdict: if your first impression of something is that it is stupid, you should trust your instincts. (This applies to people as well.) Also, don't put white chocolate in the microwave, and replace your baking soda every three months.

Cake balls are stupid, and Cassie was right.

Halloween Recap

We had big plans for Halloween this year. By big plans I mean that we were actually going to dress up and go out.

Thursday night I baked and baked (some triumphs, some failures), and was sure to use my one of my favorite rubber spatulas. (Thanks, Tanya!)

And here is the other festive thing in our house. I don't do pumpkins here in Savannah, even though I am a champion pumpkin carver (see: pumpkin carved with a silhouette of Elvis dancing; see: pumpkin carved with the Family Ties logo). Pumpkins rot in Savannah. Stupid Savannah, ruining my life.

Anyway, here's the spider decoration that I stole from a small child. I wish I was lying.

But we both got sick. Not crazy sick or swine flu sick, but sick enough to dread parties and costumes. Looks like Werewolf Bar/Bas Mitzvah will have to wait until next year, and I've got a head start. I've already got a yard of fur.

I figured that I'd just sit around tonight, watch movies, grade papers, and hand out candy to all of the trick-or-treaters. Last year, I didn't expect trick-or-treaters, so when a bunch of them showed up (by the way, they either neglected to wear a costume at all, or wore their football uniforms--BOOOOO!), I had to break into Matt's stash of miniature Reese's cups. Needless to say, Matt was displeased.

Because my learning curve isn't completely flat, I decided that this year I would be prepared. I had a variety of kickass candy, and I was ready.

And wouldn't you know it, we didn't get a single one. Maybe they'd seen my Facebook status:

Children who are not in costume do not receive candy. "Not in costume" includes but is not limited to: student, pedestrian, kid. I will egg and/or attack those children arriving at my house who demand candy but are not in costume.

Heh. I guess I'll have to eat all of this candy. Damn.

The Haunted

Me: I'm pretty sure a ghost just touched me.

Matt: You're sure it wasn't Mitch?

Me: No, it wasn't Mitch! The ghost touched me on my back, and Mitch is on the floor. And it wasn't you; you're in the other room. If it's not you and it's not Mitch, must be a ghost.

Matt: Yes, that is the only reasonable explanation.

Halloweens Past

Some of my fondest Halloween memories come from my college years. We had good parties, bobbing for apples, and great costumes.

Oh, and also, I was actually ALLOWED TO CELEBRATE HALLOWEEN.

You see, when I was between the ages of 9 and 14, my parents were in their fundamentalist Christian phase, and decreed that my brother and I were not allowed to celebrate Halloween because it was SATAN'S HOLIDAY.

No joke.

One particular Halloween--I believe I was in the fifth grade, prime trick-or-treating age--Halloween fell on a Wednesday. Wednesday was, duh, a church night for us, so we were not out in costume trick-or-treating with our peers (and Satan). Instead, we were learning about church.

Wonderful.

My mom and her friend Sue, feeling bad for all of the kids who were denied the fun of trick-or-treating, bought us a pinata to ease the pain.

(Our pinata was shaped like a donkey or something, but I thought this one was much funnier.)

We kids jumped up and down in excitement--the kind of excitement you experience before the age of 13, when you're somewhat innocent and happy and don't have to pay bills.

And we started clubbing away at that pinata.

Clubbing. . .

Clubbing. . .

Clubbing. . .

Broken. . .

Newspaper?

More newspaper?

Yes, Susan and Susan didn't realize that one must fill the pinata with candy. Pinatas don't come filled with candy. In their infinite wisdom (the same kind of wisdom that tells you that kids can't trick-or-treat lest they be worshipping Satan), they bought a pinata believing that it would already contain candy. Yep. They sure did.

Talk about disappointment. Disillusionment. Resentment. (This happened almost twenty years ago, and I still get mad when I think about it.)

While my schoolmates (who, by the way, also attended Christian school, but somehow were allowed to celebrate Satan's holiday) enjoyed this--

--I just got more angry. But I did get to learn about Jesus!

I was denied the true joyful experience of Halloween, and I've attempted to compensate for it in adulthood. One way of compensation is to have kickass costumes.

Which brings me to this year's Halloween costume. I'm torn between Werewolf Bar/Bas Mitzvah and Edward Scissorhands.

What shall it be?

What are you being for Halloween?

Werewolf Bar Mitzvah

Spooky, scary.



You can listen to the song in its entirety here.

Matt has vetoed the idea of us being Werewolf Bar Mitzvah (or Bas Mitzvah) for Halloween. Looks like it's back to the drawing board.

A shoe search only reveals creepy baby dolls.

This month's issue of Real Simple features this photo of these shoes, and I cannot stop thinking about them. I want these to be the shoes that provide the evil teacher click, click, click as I walk around my classroom next school year. I even had a dream that I found them and wore them to school.

I've been looking all over the interwebs and the inside of the magazine to see who makes the shoes and where I might be able to buy them. (Truth be told, they're probably far too expensive and uncomfortable to make my shoe dream come true, but I WANT them. My desire for these shoes is a perfect example of a need vs. a want, and I'm not sure I'd have a husband anymore if I spent a small fortune on shoes I'd never wear.)

Refusing to listen to common sense, I continue to search for the designer of these shoes. I googled the photographer's name, Burcu Avsar, but it was a bit of a dead end. Only a bit, though, because I came across a really interesting project of hers where she photographs old toys. Avsar's beautiful explanation of the project will do little to keep me from having bad dreams about this creepfest below, probably because of my history with baby dolls.

Wow, are baby dolls creepy!

Back in college, my roommates and I would throw huge Halloween parties. My roommate Paxton would begin decorating the house about a month in advance. The decorations were always fantastic, and Paxton was definitely a details kind of guy. He constructed a tree from branches that he'd dragged home, he carved intricate details in pumpkins, he found beer pong ping pong balls that looked like eyeballs. The decorations were just incredible, but our least expensive decorations ended up being the scariest.

Paxton and I went to a thrift store and spent about $3 on old gross baby dolls. We took them home, tore them apart, threw on some fake blood, duct tape, and thumbtacks. Then we hung the dolls and doll limbs and doll heads from the ceiling.

Of all of the frightening decorations--even the fog machine in the grate that would hiss every few minutes and look amazing--those creepy babies were the most memorable. I can't look at Avsar's gorgeous pictures of old toys without having vivid memories of the baby doll whose mouth was duct taped, who later became our Christmas tree topper. That same baby doll did come to life and murder one of our roommates, which may further explain why I find baby dolls a bit on the scary side.

Oh, and if you can find out where I can find those pretty pretty turquoise shoes you win in life.