This has been a busy month.
I made two pumpkin pies and finished one of them by myself in two days. Though in my defense, I had bought the shallow pie crusts so it was more like a tart. Whatever; I’d do it again.
Also, I visited a haunted house with my Scully and our friend. As we were driving out to its suburban location, I remembered that haunted houses can legit freak me out, plus I have terrible night vision. Death, obviously, was imminent. It didn’t help that this particular haunted house had people in costume lurking in the line area, creeping up behind you to surprise you. We finally made our way to the front of the line and were placed in a group of about 7, all of us full-grown adults, just hanging out on a Saturday night ready and willing to be chased by fake killer clowns. At first, we were near the back of our group, so we didn’t bear the brunt of most of the big jump-out-and-freak-you-out surprises. However, as we made our way through the twisting tunnels and pitch-black passageways, we began to lose people from our group one at time like an actual horror movie. I was staying strong, being brave, resolute to make it through to the end (What Would Jennifer Love Hewitt Do?). At one point we reached a fork in the tunnel quickly followed by a dead end, and the female half of the couple in front of us said turned around and said with disdain “It’s a fucking maze.” Our little group of three splintered off from them and got through quickly, but then we were alone and an easy target for all of the ghosts/monsters/theater majors. We reached a room that was completely dark except for an intermittent, blinding white strobe light. During the dark intervals, a person in all-white spandex suit snuck up right into our faces, scaring the hell out of us when the lights flashed back on. I wondered what a full 8-hour shift must be like for that guy, working all by himself in a constant strobe light-filled room peppered with terrified screams. It must be an interesting talking point on his résumé. After we reached the exit, I took a selfie with a ghoul. Overall, it was fun; I’d do it again.
And then most recently, I got tattooed. To match the cat paw print on my right forearm, I added a dog print on my left side. It’s my ninth tattoo and therefore my ninth step down the road to being less employable by mainstream businesses without further investments in an extensive cardigan collection. Luckily, I enjoy my current job at a company that is open-minded when it comes to personal expression, so no trips to the Gap sale section are needed. (Quick digression but when I worked at the Gap just out of college, one of our favorite jokes in the stockroom was to respond to a messily folded pile of sweaters with the sarcastic remark “What do you think this is, Gap Outlet?” Which just shows that every society has its own politics). Back to the tattoo–I’m really happy with it, a tribute to our rescue dog that lines up nicely with her feline sister’s paw print on my other arm. Should we ever have children, I’m going to have to get their names or something tattooed somewhere so they don’t grow up with a complex. So, yep, I’d do it again.
October, you’ve been pretty dope.