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What A Year…

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What I Did Today- One Year of My Life

Upon meeting my goal and blogging everyday for the 365 days during my 30th year of life I am… a bit tongue-tied as I look back and let out a low whistle. All I can think is, “I did that.” Going from not writing at all in years, to writing an original work of fiction based on one or two things that occurred during my day was not easy. Some days it was not fun (ok, more than ‘some’). But now that it’s done, I feel kinda weird… like I forgot to turn in my homework last night, or something.

So what did I learn?

  1. Blogging is rewarding, time-consuming and definitely worth the work
  2. Interesting things happen to all of us EVERY DAY. If you pay attention, you’ll be amazed.
  3. Family members, friends and strangers learned WAY more about me than I probably intended… oh well.
  4. I can accomplish great things… even when other people tell me I’m crazy. Even when I know that I am…
  5. I love to write.
  6. Some of the best ideas come out of nowhere at 11pm and many times, write themselves.
  7. If I’ve hit a wall and can’t think of a thing to write, taking a long, hot shower is like a miracle elixir for writer’s block. Works almost every time.
  8. WordPress is more than a platform it’s a community, an inspiration, and a creative motivator and I’m so glad I decided to call it my blogging home.

So what’s next?

I’ve thought a lot about this… and I’ve come up with a few things for ‘The Future’. First priority… lots of naps on the couch, catching up on some movies I’ve missed out on and totally being the laziest person ever.

Secondly, while I won’t be blogging everyday, I do still intend on posting from time to time. These posts could be anything from a crafting project, a recipe I’ve tried or some more of my writings. We shall see…

Next ‘big plan’ is I’ll be creating a second blog, in addition to my Guess What I Did Today?blog, I will be launching, Pale On Purpose (P.O.P.) a humorous narrative focusing on those of us who can’t seem to tan, are borderline-transparent and… prefer it that way. It’s not a slam on all of you loverly tanned beauties, it’s more of us pale people are pretty okay too. So stay tuned for that…

He is like a god to us 'pale-o's'

I’ve also recently been accepted into a graduate certificate program for Professional Writing. So yeah… I’ll still be writing, but now will get credit for it! The goal is, hopefully, to land a part-time instructor position teaching composition, writing, english etc. So here goes nothing!!!

This was either a really good idea.... or the worst ever.

I definitely want to go back through this blog, update pictures, proofread the stories and do some general housekeeping stuff. I would like to extract a few of my stories and characters and somehow create one work of fiction that will connect them in a seamless way.. combining their worlds. I also plan on potentially publishing my stories, either a la carte, as they are or beefed up a bit, and also putting them all into a memoire of sorts and trying to get that published, if just for myself.

This is where you come in, dear reader…

In the coming weeks, I think I’ll be reposting some of my favorite stories and I want your input. Do you like them, would you like see more development on any of them, do the have legs to stand on as a short story or character for a novel? You know that type of stuff… Comments, story ideas, thoughts, constructive criticism… it’s all welcome (please be gentle, ha ha!)

Love & Squirrels.

Thanks for reading! ~ Sam


Day #365: The Last Story

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The Story:

All Rachel wanted was a quick commute home and maybe a bubblebath. She knew she’d get neither and sighed audibly, causing the two men seated in front of her to throw snooty looks over their shoulders before returning their attention to the presentor on stage. “I’m not even supposed to be here,” she thought sulkily to herself before trying to concetrate on what the presenter was saying. But here she sat, three hours after her work day was supposed to have ended she had convinced herself to stay out of professional obligation, that and there had been no oportune time to slip out.

Allen waited for Rachel as long as he could. Finally looking at his watch and knowing he should have left at least five minutes ago, he cursed the Burger King toilet and his shallow jean’s pocket for their concerted sabatoge of his only method of contacting her. His cellphone may as well be a fishtank accessory now for all the good it did him after taking its recent suicide dive into the murky toilet water of the fast food eatery. It was no use- he had to leave. He only prayed she would see his note before she saw… them.

By the time Rachel arrived home, the house was dark and she was hungry. Those were really the only two sensations that registered after her marathon 13-hour day. Not worrying with the lights, Rachel kicked off her heels and hobbled across their tiny loft to the fridge. Peering inside and seeing nothing she wanted, Rachel settled on a bowl of cereal and after pouring a good amount into a bowl and adding some milk, she took her dinner to the couch where she collapsed unceremoniously. Staring straight ahead and not even really tasting the spoonfuls of vanilla almond granola, she wondered briefly, where Allen was. The thought only half formed, however, before Rachel gave up sustenance for sleep and curled up on the couch. She was fast asleep before the remaining cereal had time to go soggy.

Since leaving the house two hours ago, Allen couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he had forgotten something. Hoping it was a residual feeling of being without his cellphone, he tried to rationalize the feeling away, but with little success. Later, as he passed a woman at the end of her break packing up her lunch bag, a wave of sickening foreboding washed over him as he saw her press the lid of her Tupperware securely in place. He had forgotten to seal one of the containers. Without thinking, Allen took off towards his car- he had to make it home before Rachel. God, he hoped he wasn’t too late.

Still asleep where she had collapsed on the couch, Rachel subconsciously brushed at something tickling her face. Suddenly, the darkness disappeared as seemingly every light in the house was simultaneously turned on, causing Rachel to wake with a start. Seeing that it was just Allen, Rachel went from groggily confused to seriously peeved and was just about to tell him off for waking her up when she noticed the expression on his face. It was as if he had seen a ghost.

Allen’s worst nightmare was staring back at him. He would have sworn it was a dream or some ridiculous scene from a cheesy horror flick if it hadn’t been his own girlfriend curiously returning his stare, not knowing apparently, the terror she was about to experience despite his best efforts to prevent it.

“Babe, don’t be scared, but I have to tell you something. I needed to bring two of the animals home from the rehab clinic to stay here overnight. One of their containers was not properly secured and…now, don’t make any sudden moments and stay as still as you can, because there is a trantula on your head,” Allen tried to move towards her slowly but quick enough he could hopefully remove the aracnid before Rachel reacted and threw the thing across the room as he fully expected her to do. He could tell by her lack of reaction that she was having trouble processing what he had just told her, and might even be contemplating the chance that he was playing some elaborate prank on her. He wished he was.

Rachel wondered if her boyfriend was losing his mind or just his sense of humor. Telling her there was a giant spider on her head? Man, he needed some new material or some sleep, either way, Rachel wasn’t buying his act. Then, she felt something move in her hair.

She had felt it move, Allen could tell by the dramatic shift in her expression. He knew he would only have a split second before she reached for the uninvited headwear and flung it as far away from her as possible. Just as he was sure he’d be spending the next half hour scraping trantula-sized splatter off of the wall, something unexpected happened. Rachel smiled. Then, with all the grace of a ballerina, she slowly arched her arm up and over her head and slowly lowered it before gingerly plucking the spider from her head.

Honey, you missed a leg.

Rachel was getting a kick out of the stunned look Allen couldn’t seem to recover from, thanks to her little stunt with the spider. Not wanting to continue his misery any longer, she shrugged her shoulders causally and said, “I got your note about bringing home these guys. You know, you really should be more careful securing their containers. When my dad brought me home my first trantula- his name was Percy by the way, the same thing happened to me and Percy almost met his maker when my mom accidently swept him into the dustbin while she was cleaning. Don’t you just love spiders?”

Mary Jane knows what I'm talkin about... Spidey love Fo-eva!


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Today was a loooong day. Thirteen hour work day, to be exact. Tonight, from 6 to 9pm, our graduating physical therapy students presented their capstone projects and although I had every intention of ducking out early… the opportunity never presented itself. That’s ok, I was glad to lend my support to these guys after all their hardwork… I may just need a few naps tomorrow.

TWO:    There are not one, but two ginormous tarantulas sitting on my dining room table as we speak (or as I type… whatever, you get the idea). While seeing them here is no surprise, Andy was kind enough to give my plenty of warning, actually seeing them here, knowing that we are sharing the same air is wigging me out just a smidgeon. I, unlike Rachel from the story, am not exactly a huge fan of these critters and the notion that we will be spending the night (actually two nights) under the same roof is giving me the heebie jeebies.

***THIS IS IT! My last story! Can you believe it’s been a whole year????  I set a goal to write one work of fiction based on something that happened to me that day and by golly! I did it! What a rollercoaster this blogging journey has been. There’s so much I want to say, so I’ve decided to add two more posts, one tomorrow on the lessons I’ve learned thanks to this experience and one on my actual birthday (which is Friday… that whole leap year thing kinda screwed up my days!) about what my future plans are, with the blog and beyond. So stay tuned…

Love & Squirrels.

Day #317: Thieving Pigs…

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The Story:

Ok, let’s go around the room and each share one thought about our addictions, okay? Elliot, why don’t we start with you…

I swore I wouldn’t… but I got sucked in.

I had no idea how much I like destroying things.

Those pigs deserve what they get, they stole!

Today I only played for about four hours. I feel like I’ve hit a real milestone.

My favorites are the egg-poopers.

I can’t make it through a day without getting three stars on at least four levels.

I just play for the sound effects and kick ass visuals… I don’t have a problem, ok?

Okay everyone that was great. Oh! It looks like we have a new member! Welcome, welcome! Come have a seat, and if you wouldn’t mind just introducing yourself…

Uh, sure… Hi everyone, my name is Danielle Freeport, and I’m a addicted to Angry Birds.

Hi Danielle.


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      It’s happened, I’ve finally succumbed. Today, I played Angry Birds for the very first time and, just like I predicted… I am totally addicted. Even as I type, all I can think about is getting back to my game and trying to earn three stars on all the levels. I can see this may become a problem… but for now, I’m giving in to the temptation.

Love & Squirrels.



Day #246: Breakin Up

The Story:

So here’s the thing, blog, I got stuff to do. I know, I know, we had an agreement, I would spend at least a few hours with you each day, we’d have our ‘alone time’ where we only focused on one thing… getting it posted. But I’m getting a little stressed trying to fit all the things I need to get done in the next 18 hours, and to be honest… you’re not really a priority right now. I know, I’m awful. I just thought it would be better to tell you the truth then try to dance around the obvious; we both know I have two left feet anyway.

So, instead of sitting here for two plus hours trying to eek out something funny, or witty or thoughtful, I’m going to knock out a few of those things that simply must be done before tomorrow. It’s really better for everyone this way. I don’t like doing it, but sometimes a girl has to just set her priorities and move on. It’s not you, it’s me, ok?

Blame it on the holidays. Blame it on bad time management. Blame it on too much stress at work. Take your pick, honestly, I don’t mind. You can blame anything you like for as long as you like, just know that I’m probably not going to pay it much attention- I’m simply too busy. Don’t worry though, you know I always come back- I wouldn’t turn my back on you so completely without warning… mama just needs a break, mkay?

Seriously, I'm this close...


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      You know that feeling when you are several hours or half a day from departing on a trip and practically nothing you set out to accomplish in order to ready yourself for that trip has gotten done? Yeah, I’m a little frazzled this evening just thinking of all the things I need to get done before going up to my Pop’s place for a loverly Georgian Christmas. So you know what, I’m going to just do some of it instead of trying to figure out something quick to write, I’m cutting out early so I don’t lose my mind (or what little of it remains). So until tomorrow, I will bid you adieu, this very human blogger just needs to focus elsewhere tonight.

Love & Squirrels.

Day #222: Hambungled

The Story:

“Um, I don’t know, what does the package say?” Hank looked over to his line cook Scooter who was reading one of the tickets that just came in. “Don’t they know what kind of joint this is?” he grumbled to himself and dumped a basket of crawfish on a plate, “Order up!” he screamed through the pickup window. A waitress in a mid-drift and ponytail materialized and giving the surly cook her iciest look collected the plates and disappeared once again into the dining room.

“Hank, there ain’t no package that I can see. Must’ve thrown it out ages ago, I’d wager,” Scooter said and scratched his head absently. Handing the ticket to Hank, Scooter turned back to his green tomatoes, and continued chopping, Hank would just have to figure this one out on his own- that’s why he got the big bucks.

Hank growled deep in his throat and knotted his fingers together behind his head. He knew this day would come, but somehow the knowing made it all the worse. Why the new owners had decided to even put the thing on the menu was beyond him… the menu was fine the way it was, everybody knew the old menu, they liked it. So why change it now? “We need to diversify, silly!” he could still hear the reply of chipmunk-faced Midwesterner Darlene, wife of Dale (ironic enough) and new co-owner of Billy’s Bait Bucket, what had been a fresh fish and crawfish staple in those parts of the Gulf for seventy-five years or more.

“Diversify my ass,” Hank spat and fired up the grill. He’d be damned if the out-of-town idgit who lacked the wit to order something decent from the menu would be the one to stump him in the kitchen. Dealing with the foreign food like he would a decent catfish fillet, Hank went about his task and prepared the dish as best he could, drawing from random memories of seeing it ordered in other restaurants or on TV. By the end of it, Hank was right impressed with himself, it actually looked edible. “Gawersh!” Scooter replied as he watched Hank fling the finished product onto the counter of the pick-window. “Order up!”

About five minutes later, as Hank was pulling a basket of fries from the fryer, he turned to find Mandy, the head server, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for him to notice her. Pulling a dissected sandwich from behind her back, Mandy practically flung the plate at him, “Hank, for the love of God, I thought you knew how to cook? What the hell is this? The lady sent it back after cutting into it, didn’t even take a bite. You know why, Hank? I’ll tell you!” Mandy suddenly grabbed Hank’s forefinger and plunged it into the center of the sandwich. “Because, as you can tell, it’s FROZEN! This sandwich is not cooked in the middle, Hank, it’s raw. Now, this lady was very nice and she’s part of a large party and I really need a decent tip after last night, so cook her another one, and this time, make sure it’s actually COOKED!” turning on her heel, Mandy disappeared through the swinging doors before Hank remembered to remove his finger from the frozen mess that was his creation only minutes ago.

Grabbing another frozen patty from the freezer, Scooter handed it to Hank and tried to offer a weak smile of encouragement. Seeing right through Scooter to the hockey puck of meat he now held in his hand, Hank let out a string of curses that would make the devil blush. Feeling a little better, he threw the puck onto the grill and ground his teeth, “who orders a hamburger at a fish joint anyway?”


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Took advantage of another lovely November day in balmy Florida, and met Andy’s family up in Orange City for a relaxed lunch and day of just relaxing. Deciding on a place we could eat lunch outside, we loaded up and drove over to a quaint seafood joint nicely situated on the St. John’s river. Walking in, you knew not to expect a “fine dining” experience, what with the stuffed gators on the walks and moonshine jugs hanging from the ceiling, but then again, we weren’t exactly what you would call “fine dining clientele” either, so it worked out. We were all geared up for the special of the place, Mahi Mahi when come to discover- they’re all out. This threw a wrench in the works for just about all of us, including Andy’s mother who decided to go with a burger, since Mahi wasn’t available. Well, guess this place isn’t accustomed to filling an order that doesn’t call for something that used to swim, because that burger came out, and I swore I heard it ‘moo’. The thing was R.A.W. raw on the inside, and cold as the river behind us. Her peach of a boyfriend was good enough to call our server’s attention to this matter, and took care of ordering her a new sandwich (she shares my hatred of sending back food, even when it deserves it, so I thought it was really nice of her boyfriend to step up and do the dirty work). Unfortunately, her new burger was none the better, completely overcooked this time, as we predicted it would be, but at least it was edible. The entire experience left me wondering, could this have possibly been one of only a few times this cook had been asked to prepare such a ‘rarity’ as a cheeseburger? It certainly appeared to be.

Love & Squirrels.

Day #217: My Mistake

The Story:

The heaviness she felt, pushing on her shoulders and clamping down her throat- “this must be what ‘guilt’ feels like”, she thought. How had she let this happen? How had she could she have been so careless, so cavalier? Usually Helen couldn’t be bothered to care about someone else’s feelings. Usually, she wasn’t wrong.  As one of the greatest minds in psychology, a wildly successful writer and accomplished practitioner, Helen was only vaguely familiar with the concept of ‘failure’ on any level, including careless mistakes. She simply did not make them, and did not tolerate them from those she worked with. While Helen had somehow gone her 33 years without developing what people might consider a normal level of empathy, she was not a ‘bad’ person and could deftly recognize when an injustice had been committed. And this time, she was the one to blame.

Wholly inexperienced in how one would go about seeking forgiveness, Helen did what she always did when she needed advice- she called her best friend Ruby. Agreeing to meet Helen where she was at the corner diner, Ruby arrived ten minutes later and fell into the chair in a huff. “Ruby, you have some kind of blue substance on your face,” Helen said as her friend picked up her menu. Without putting the menu down, Ruby dipped two fingers in her water glass and rubbed them on the cheek Helen indicated. As a Kindergarten teacher for more than five years, having a bit of smutz on her face was hardly a cause for concern. Placing her order with the waitress several minutes later, Ruby leaned her elbows on the table and said, “So, what’s the problem?”

“I’ve made a mistake, Ruby, and it’s outside my scope of expertise so I was hoping you could help me understand how to correct the error I’ve made,” Helen said matter-of-factly. Seeing her friend was troubled, Ruby nodded her head for Helen to continue. “It happened about half an hour ago. I was sitting at the counter, in my usual seat when a young man entered the diner and sat down in the seat to my left. Interested in why he would choose to sit in that particular seat, when there were many open seats that were not next to another patron, I struck up a conversation with him. He was very interesting, and I found that I was enjoying our conversation very much- in a purely professional manner, of course,” she finished hurriedly when Ruby flashed her an inquisitive smile.

“So…. What’s the issue? Sounds like nothing but good things so far,” Ruby replied before taking a huge bite of her tuna melt.

“Well, as he was finishing his meal and was preparing to depart, I’m afraid I gave him some misinformation,” Helen answered, looking a bit sheepish- a look Ruby had never seen on her friend. Before she could press her for more details however, Helen seemed preoccupied with something over her shoulder. Looking behind her, Ruby saw a tall man with dark hair and a brooding expression enter the diner.

“That’s him!” Helen was almost giddy. “Now I can correct my oversight and put this entire thing behind me,” she said as she walked over to meet the stranger in the diner’s doorway. Not wishing to miss any of the action, Ruby grabbed the other half of her melt and swiveled in her seat to get a better look.

“I’m so glad you returned,” Helen said as she approached the man still standing in the doorway. “The phone number I gave you, it’s… well, I gave you an incorrect number. You see, I don’t typically hand out my personal number and when you asked, I am embarrassed to say I provided a false number out of habit. I feel badly about my dishonesty and the humiliation you would have felt, had you dialed the number only to realize it was not mine. But, you are here now, and I would very much like to give you my correct phone number,” she concluded and handed him a business card, her cell phone number written on the back.

Ruby watched as her friend handed the mystery man something and a few seconds when the man turned to leave she quickly swung back to face the table and waited for Helen to sit back down. “So? What was that all about? Who was that? What did you give him?” Ruby couldn’t help the flood of questions that fell out of her mouth. She remaindered herself of her students. Helen just stared at her hands, a subtle smile playing at the corner of her lips. Finally, when Ruby didn’t think she could stand the suspense any longer, Helen looked up and said quietly, “I have a date”.


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      OK, this one when in a completely different direction than I intended… oh well, it happens. Today I discovered some information that immediately caused a knot to form in my stomach. Based on what I was reading today, I knew I had given some very bad advice yesterday to a student wishing to apply to the program. Now normally, I would shoot off an email to the wronged party to explain my error and apologize for the confusion. Problem was- this student was a walk-in, I didn’t even have a name. As a result, I walked around with a stone in my bowels and a heavy conscience. The small detail that I got wrong could potentially delay this student’s graduation by a semester, postponing his ability to apply to our program and continue towards his career goals. I was kicking myself. My job is to help students like him, and for the first time that I know of, I had done the complete opposite of that. And then- there he was. Standing in the office, talking to one of our faculty, there stood the very student I had misguided yesterday completely unaware that I had messed up. Springing on this opportunity, I informed the student of my ‘oops’ and apologized profusely. The news ‘made his day’ according to him, and I felt such relief I almost hugged the dude. Love when things work out (thanks Big Guy).

NO... not the Fonz

Love & Squirrels.

Day #195: Old Man Zombie

The Story:

The minute his eyes fluttered open, Dan knew it was going to be a rotten day. Running through every type of excuse he could potentially use to stay in bed for the day and out of the workplace, Dan almost smiled when he realized he actually felt legitimately ill. Shuffling into the adjoining bathroom, Dan peered at his disheveled appearance in the vanity. He looked like crap. Well, at least something is going my way, he thought as he examined his sunken eyes and pale skin. Making a quick call to his supervisor informing him he wouldn’t be coming in that day, Dan downed half a bottle of cherry cough syrup, whipped up a bowl of instant oatmeal and headed back to bed. With any luck, he would sleep straight through to tomorrow, when life would return to some normalcy- November 1st could not come quick enough. Gingerly crawling back into bed, he promptly fell asleep before he was able to eat even one spoonful of his oatmeal.

Waking up with a start, Dan looked around in confusion. Something had disturbed his slumber, sitting up slowly- God his head was pounding, Dan listened for anything that might have been the cause of his abrupt departure from la-la land. And then he heard it. Looking around in a panic, Dan leaned over to read the display on his bedside alarm clock; it was 7pm. “Crap,” Dan hissed as he tried to ‘unhear’ the unmistakable mirth of at least half a dozen children, “trick-or-treaters”.


The doorbell sounded through the house like artillery fire. “Double crap,” Dan mumbled remembering too late that his porch light was on a timer and was practically a homing beacon for the neighborhood brats looking for candy. The doorbell rang again, with more urgency, if that was possible. Knowing all too well what happened to people who ignored trick-or-treaters (a strategically placed exploding soda can will do that) Dan threw on his old bathrobe and grabbed a few of the pocket dictionaries he wasn’t able to hock on his last sales trip and went to answer the front door.

““Trick or treat!” the sugary voices of a princess, ninja and Spiderman threatened in unison before thrusting their plastic pumpkins towards Dan. Depositing a dictionary in each of their pumpkins, Dan grumbled to the obviously disgruntled children, “Candy rots your teeth- but these! These will help your brains get nice and big”. Sulking, the kids said the obligatory “thank you” and began their onward march to the next home of suckers. Bringing up the rear were the kids’ parents, a group of four who waved at Dan and one of the fathers even called out, “Great costume, by the way! Super believable zombie, dude. Love it!”.

Wondering what the idiot might be on about, Dan wasn’t able to give the comment much thought for the next round of extortionists were already banging down his door, this time in the guise of a Mr. Potatohead, a pirate, a headless horseman and a what appeared to be a wad of tinfoil. “Trick or treat, Mr. Zombie!” the little pirate screeched, his stuffed parrot pitching forward on his shoulder and landing beak-first in the little boy’s armpit. Tossing a few pocket dictionaries at them, Dan wondered again where the zombie thing was coming from but decided he was too sick and too annoyed to care.

The next two hours proceeded in much the same fashion- a seemingly endless parade of costumed children and their semi-costumed parents hit him up for every last pocket dictionary Dan had. From almost every group Dan heard the zombie reference, and eventually just shrugged it off as some new Halloween slang he was obviously not familiar with, maybe ‘great zombie’ meant ‘thanks for the awesome dictionaries’ or something similar.

Around 8:45pm, Dan finally shut his front door for the final time. Taking the porch light off of the timer, Dan walked to the bathroom to blow his nose. Flicking on the lights, he almost let out a scream before realizing the horrific figure he was staring at was his reflection. Terror quickly mellowed to amusement as Dan leaned closer to the mirror and tentatively touched his face. Dripping down his chin and encompassing his entire mouth like a gory goatee was congealed cherry couch syrup. Additionally, there were ‘pockmarks’ and what appeared to be festering wounds all over his face, head and torso, thanks to his falling asleep before thinking to set the bowl of peaches and cream oatmeal safely out of the bed. Picking a glob of the stuff from his cheekbone, Dan almost laughed as he thought about all the reactions he received from trick-or-treaters. With the impromptu ‘make up’ his shabby slippers, holey pajama pants and bathrobe haphazardly thrown on, Dan made an impressively realistic zombie. “Well, I feel like the walking dead, so I guess if the shoe fits…” he chuckled to himself as he turned on the water for a hot shower.

Several days later, upon arriving home, Dan noticed a small object sitting on the doormat in front of his front door. Walking up from the driveway, Dan picked up what he saw to be a trophy and read the inscription, “Dan Upton, Tall Oaks Neighborhood Best Adult Costume- 2011”. Looking up from the inscription, Dan noticed the figure atop the marble base was a small, brass zombie.


The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      So of course, number one inspiration come from the fact that today is Halloween. Boo! I scare you!

TWO:    Today, on the way to a meeting I figured I would grab a can of Coke Zero for a caffeine pick-me-up. Depositing my $0.75 I pressed the button and- nothing happened. So I pressed the button again, and was relieved to hear the machine deposit a can, that is until I bent over to retrieve my purchase and got a face-full of Coke zero. The can was punctured and was hissing and spraying everywhere like a pissed-off rattlesnake. Grabbing the can and placing my thumb over the hole, I held out the soda and looked around trying to figure out what to do with the darned thing. I really wanted to try and salvage it, I was pretty thirsty and that was a whole $0.75 down the tube. Common sense eventually won out and I eventually dropped the offending soda into the trash, listening sadly as it sprayed all of its carbonated goodness on Oreo wrappers and discarded wads of gum.

THREE:  OK, so usually I try to be a good sport about the whole “Trick or Treat” thing. If my Halloween entails hanging with kids, or even another adult, I’m all about it. Bring on the little buggers. But can I be honest with you for a sec? I kinda hate it otherwise. If I’m home alone, the entire idea of having to answer the door to a bunch of strangers so that I can give them candy really doesn’t sit well with me. First, I love candy, why would I give it away? Second, I’m a total misanthrope; I don’t like being disturbed when I’m at home. Third, the constant knocking and doorbell ringing? It drives my dachshund bonkers- he loses it when I come home, let alone a parade of bizarrely dressed strangers, the fact that they are children only intensifies the barking. So tonight, despite the fact that I bought a bag of candy and set it in a bowl by the front door, I kept the porch light off and hid in my house like a jerk. Yeah, I’m kind of an old fart. Sorry.

Love & Squirrels.