Mirror, mirror on the wall

What's the unsexiest Halloween costume of them all?

Mine.

You can go sexy or you can go creepy on Halloween, and I opt for creepy (I went as Sarah Palin two years ago... I know creepy).

This year, I decided to face my fears and go as the joke that folks make about me anyway.

Today is the company Halloween party. I'm going as a crazy cat lady.

To clarify, I only have TWO cats. But if you're a woman over the age of 28 who lives alone (regardless of whether you've purposely made that choice or own the house you live in), you get The Jokes. Which is fine. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. (I will say here that Beau has two cats and also lives alone and he gets no crazy cat man jokes. I don't even think there are crazy cat man jokes.)

Last night, I ran a pair of dark corduroy pants over the scratching-pole tower that my cats practically live on. Dark no more! I went to my Mom's and borrowed kittycat earrings (she's a former second-grade teacher who will always have things like kittycat earrings) and a stuffed cat. Then I found a kittycat T-shirt in my closet (go ahead and judge). And then, the piece de resistance, I shall cover my face, hands, and arms with these nail polish + fork "scratches":

Ooh-la-la! Beau is out of town this week. I hope I can fend off all of the sex-crazed men who will, no doubt, be driven mad with lust after they see my costume!

Sometimes a simple "cheer up!" doesn't do the trick

Today on Facebook, I saw a status that, while well-meaning, incensed me:

The seeds of depression CAN NOT take root in a grateful heart. DAILY, write down 5 things for which you are grateful.

I completely agree with her that we all need to be grateful for everything we have when so many in this world have so little. I also believe that if you aren't grateful for what you have, you will never have enough (which might explain the credit crisis in this country).

But she doesn't know shit about depression.

I do. I've gotten the help and the medication that I need, and I live a happy and fulfilling life as a result. But I suffered for years before that because of the stigma attached to something society deems a weakness that can be overcome by pulling one's self up by their bootstraps. 

Recently, a 23-year-old Denver Broncos player committed suicide in his home. From an outsider's perspective, he had the world by the tail. It came out later that he'd had problems with depression for years. He always had a smile for everybody and he never reached out to friends, family, or teammates. Depressives are very good at hiding their conditions.

Abe Lincoln had crippling bouts of melancholy.

Clinical Depression is a horrible, debilitating disease. It's a chemical imbalance, not simply a case of the mopes. The "seeds of depression" can take root in anyone (and it tends to run in families). And when you're in such a deep, dark hole that it's a miracle you can get out of bed in the morning, having someone belittle your situation is unbearable.

Suggesting that depressed individuals are simply ungrateful and feeling sorry for themselves is insulting. And it's that kind of stigma that keeps people who need help from seeking it.

If you don't suffer from depression and you don't have any friends or family who suffer from it (that you know of), let that be one of the five things for which you are grateful today. And if you're going to speak out, do your research and have a little empathy or keep your mouth shut.

(Steps off of the soap box, promises to write silly posts about movies, work, and nacho cheese from here on out.)

Overheard

And I just turned to him and said "Screw that! I'm not going to any dry boyscout camp where you can't drink any beer!"

They're coming to get you, Barbara...

Have I mentioned that I loooove the scary-movie marathons in October?

I do believe I have.

On Saturday, Beau and I spent a lazy afternoon perusing the free scary movies On Demand.

I was excited to find the original black and white 1968 version of Night of the Living Dead. Eeeeee! If you haven't seen it, you must. It's a classic. I've seen it multiple times.

We had to pause the movie in the middle because dinner was ready (yep, I can cook AND watch a zombie movie--I'm a multitasker). As we were getting out plates and silverware, I started thinking aloud:

This would probably be a good place to be when the zombies come. They'd never find the crawlspace. Though we'd have to cover this kitchen window and the three windows in the living room. These windows are so big! The doors are strong though. But we'd have to find large pieces of wood. Would the closet doors upstairs work? Probably, but where would we get nails long enough to secure them? I have a hammer, but only itty-bitty nails. I wonder if we could improvise with...

And then Beau stopped me and reminded me that Night of the Living Dead is a movie and not an educational film on how to survive a zombie attack.

Sigh. Buzzkill.

If you're selling lovely red fused glass items on Etsy.com

you do yourself a disservice by giving them names like:

Bloodsoaked
Crime Scene
Blood Spatter

Please take the poll on the right hand side of the page

Pretty, pretty please.

Duff and I need to know if this is funny or not.

Clever, clever Beau

Usually in the evenings, Beau and I will text back and forth and maybe send a picture or two (not those kinds of pictures, Favre).

I got this one the other night and it made me smile because:

1. I love wordplay
2. I adore Disney movies about singing animals

A RITZ 'O CAT! 

I stand by my theory

that nobody's ever met the love of their life at a Chipotle.

It's impossible to be sexy or alluring while you're eating a three-pound burrito.

I'm a giant hypocrite

I rail against sexy Halloween costumes, but I really like this one. 

Granted, her thighs are thinner than ACTUAL Tootsie Rolls. But my hair is better. And it's the color of ACTUAL Tootsie Rolls (which I've decided is somehow superior, though I don't know why, really). And I might fill out the dress just a tad differently. Oh, and I'll never buy it. 

But I'll concede that it IS cute. 

Whatever it is I think I see becomes a Tootsie Roll to me!

Ruh-roh

There wasn't much on TV last night, so I watched an episode or two of Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated.

Go ahead and judge, BUT:

• I read all day long
• I listened to NPR on my drive home
• I made whole-wheat couscous/feta/green onion pancakes for dinner
• I watched a documentary later

I EARNED those Scooby-Doo mysteries, friends.

And they were as cute and fun as I remembered. With two exceptions:

1. The Mystery Mobile has GPS. WTF? 
2. Velma (who is voiced by Natalie from The Facts of Life, by the way) and Daphne continually bitch and moan about their relationships with Shaggy and Fred, respectively. 

Whuck?

This is prime time on the Cartoon Network. Do we need sexual tension in the Mystery Mobile? And, more to the point, can book-smart (albeit fashion-challenged) Velma do no better than a (let's face it) pothead who loves sandwiches and his dog more than he'll ever love her?

Daphne and Fred are utterly vapid; they're made for each other, but I wanted so much more for poor Velma.