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All Hallow’s Eve Pt2

Distractions

A meme from The Electronic Replicant so fitting, I can’t pass it up:

What were you last year for Halloween?
Rarrr!
A Luchadore. Often imitated. Often better than yours.

What are you going to be this year?

You Tell Me…

Favorite costume you have ever worn?
For attention, I’ve never got as much as the wrestler. I do remember my sister trying to get me into a Mummy costume and bailing on me when she got half way through. Too many bandages for her attention span.

How do you spend your Halloween?
Lately, on Church Street. I’m a people watcher at heart. But the desire to dress up overtakes that a bit.

Are you or are you not going trick or treating this year?
I hope to trick. Nyuck nyuck.

Did or do you pull Halloween pranks?
I tried to scare my mom once when I was 9 or 10 but being the last of 5 kids, she’d seen it all: the dummy in the chair in a dark room, the panicked yelling of “John’s been hit by a car”, the lawn dart in the back for real…

Do you believe in ghosts?
Sort of. I had a sink tap turn itself on full blast when I worked in a 170 year old jail converted into a traveller’s hostel. Last place in Canada to have a public hanging. Spooky.

Are you superstitious?
I’m not. But I do pray to the fates when I want something.

Do you like caramel popcorn?
Duh.

Have you ever gone in the country to look for pumpkins?
I’ve gone into the country looking like a pumpkin. Gay camping and over-tanning does that.

Have you ever been on a hayride?
I’ve been in a Corn Maze.

Do you decorate your home for Halloween?
First time this year. Mostly cat-safe candles.

Have you ever been to a haunted house?
Where do you live?

Have you ever been to a graveyard on Halloween?
Nope. Too stupid and scared.

Have you ever attended a Halloween party?
Where do you live?

Do you watch scary movies on Halloween?
Not lately. Too busy.

Have you ever had your candy stolen from you?
Yes. At the age of 12. The guy I was with took off suddenly and my costume (I forget what I was) didn’t offer up much notice that there were big kids bearing down on us. I was tackled wondering why my friend was racing away from me. I hope the fucker (friend and big kid) is diabetic now.

Did you ever steal any ones candy?
Nope. I was a wimp.

Has anyone ever gotten hurt due to your prank?
What prank?

Have you ever dressed as a witch/warlock?
No. I wanted to be Sci Fi all the way.

Are your parents into Halloween?
When I was 16, my dad and I went to a department store and bought a pair of those cheap vinyl kids jumpsuit costumes with the tounge-cutting slitty mouths. We squeeezed into them and headed out to the apartment upstairs for the apartment building’s party. By the time we climbed the stairs, the seams had burst and we were basically in our underwear. With masks. Dad was Captain America. I was Wonder Woman.

One Thousand Yard Stare In a 50ft Locker Room

You Stupid Dick

I’m changing from towel to street clothes and the guy behind and four lockers to my right is taking his own sweet time doing the same. That’s ok, some people dress slow and like to take their time but the thing is, he’s positioned himself in a T-intersection to oversee the entire locker room. A clear view from where he’s dressing to the main isle and when he goes up on his toes, he’s got a clear view into the cubby holes, created by the lockers.

Slowly he dresses. Watching everyone, except for me, for some insulting reason (not that he was good looking). I guess I’m too damn pretty or too easy to ogle. He slowly puts on his underwear, back to his locker (while 99% of us face our lockers when we dress), going up on his toes every few moments to see what’s what. Hey there! Hi there! Ho there!

Since he’s virtually ignoring me, I stop tying my shoes to actually look at his face and his eyes. There’s nothing I can read there. It’s as almost as if he’s doing this on automatic and has probably been doing it for years and doesn’t realize he’s being that “creepy guy” in the room. He certainly isn’t focusing on any one particular person, his gaze darts from person to person. He’s “just looking” in the purest sense of the word, but his default is set to repeat the scan, looping looping looping. He’s freaking me out a bit and I feel a pang of sorrow for his need to unabashedly, wildly look around the room like an expectant prom queen looking for her king to come back with the spiked punch.

I start to whistle “Some Day My Prince Will Come” from Snow White to charge the moment with some bitter malice on my part. He doesn’t notice.

Spells I Wish I Could Cast

Distractions

Put on your Hoofindor House colours and wave your wands, kids!

Expecto Petrolium: For anyone who thinks that bad driving is their god given right, they get their hands turned into gas pump nozzles that actually spews their blood that magically transmogrifies into gas. Mobs will hunt you out and NOT pay $.25/ltr. They’ll just take it, because, you know, it’s their god given right.

Expectus Hoarktonium: Spitting in the gym showers? Your eyes turn to phlegm. Sad movies make you blind.

Expetor Dooreasius: You push the handicapped door button and you’re able bodied with nothing in your hands? Zap. Your arms are now 2 inches long. Now you have a reason.

Expecta Jackhammerus: This spell turns any City Works foreman into a slice of cheesecake at a Jenny Craig Convention if they authorize power tool work to be done outside my window before 7am.

Expeti Thongrollium: I see your underwear outside your pants? Poof – it turns into the ugliest version of the opposite sex’s gitch. Women get mustard yellow baggy boxers. Men get rhinestone encrusted thongs. Unremovable for 24 hours.

Expect Moreblogcrappius: I cast a spell where I do excellent writing. Sigh.

Bad Gifting

Personal Bits

I’m a horrible gift giver. I’ve mentioned before that I buy things I want to get, which is subconsciously greedy, I know. But if I manage to get things the receiver actually wants (usually through HEAVY hinting and suggestion), I always manage to destroy the act of surprise.

I drop too many cautionary suggestions (“You know those underwear you liked? I think you should just forget about buying them.”); or I ask too many questions (“That camera you looked at last week. Did it have a serial number you can remember off the top of your head?”); or in the case of home-made, hear felt gifts, I execute their creation waaay too early (“You may want to wear this now – it’s a scarf I made you!”); or I just leave the damn things lying around without trying to hide them (“What’s this Charlie’s Angels Season One doing here?”), all resulting in the most anti-climactic surprise for the recipient.

So when I finished wrapping the gifts last night for someone’s impending birthday, this someone systematically picked them up and one by one and identified nearly each gift:

(Fondle) “That book I wanted.”
(Shake) “Socks. Probably green.”
(Lift, bend) “That t-shirt I said I liked.”
(Hold, weigh) “Not sure.”
(Hold, poke) “Not sure.”
(Passing to side) “Charlie’s Angels.”
(Passing to side) “Charlie’s Angels.”
(Lift, bend) “Padded CD case?”

Damn it!

My own fault, really. I can’t go up against the master. He had my iPhone sitting beside my bed (hardly hidden) for at least 3 weeks before my birthday with not one mention or hint to me about it. Subsequently I was blindsided, twice (he got me a decoy gift which he also didn’t let on, but gave to me early – the Wii). Cool as a cucumber, he sat on these gifts for a long time without hint of their impending coolness.

Me? I think in terms of the happiness. I’m bursting to see the payoff, but I get disappointed when the recipient makes the all too easy connection: “Want to see what I got you? No? Darn! It’s really cool! It makes toast and is toaster-like! What? No. It’s not a toaster! Fttt!”

Sound it Out

Personal Bits

Just in from an ultrasound, kiddies! Apparently my last blood test suggested an “enlarged liver” so my Doc, ever cautious, ordered me to the lab.

Upon entering the lab at St George’s Medical Arts Building, I had to wait until the receptionist had finished with her conversation to a friend on her cell. Normally I would have been upset with a wait like this but her conversation (which she meant for me to hear) was one of desperation. She was trying to find a home for a border collie that had been abused by her neighbours. She asked me instantly if I wanted him. I don’t and she tells me of the struggle this dog has had. She seems like a caring sort, confirmed when she confesses to having 4 cats and one dog already.

I was ushered into the changing cubicles where surprise sooprize, I had the same technician doing my scan as the last time I was there a few years back for a lump. In my boob. (Her words. Slowly. Hushed. Conspiratory: “Is the lump. In you boob…gone?”) So instantly she was friendly and chatty, taking a moment to laugh at the big BUTCH pin on my knapsack. “Nothing but underwear, socks and shoes. Put this robe on backwards and this one on forwards. I don’t want you wandering the hall bare butt.” I remember how much I liked her the first time.

Into the scanning suite. Up goes the gown and a sheet of paper towel is tucked into and draped over my underwear. I lie down and she grabs the KY in squeezy bottle.

“Do you have BBQ flavour?” I ask as she covers my hairy chest and belly with the thankfully warm lube.

“HA! There’s a first,” she comments.

She can’t stop asking about my lump she looked at two years ago. She meekly raises her ultrasound wand and ask “Can I look at your… boob… with my… wand?” I let her. All clear. She’s happy.

She slips her wand over my right side. I start to laugh. She starts to laugh. “Sorry. It always kills me when big biker dudes like yourself giggle when I touch them. Can you take out your belly ring?”

In walks the Dog Savior receptionist with the Wand Waving Tech’s next appointment file, resulting in joking banter about hiding my underwear with the paper towel. “What’s he got under there?” The Dog Savior asks, pointing at my Bounty covered BVDs. These two have sussed me out in seconds.

“A cat,” I say. First thing into my head since she’s a dog lover.

“I think we’re the ones with cats,” says the Wand Waver.

Hilarity ensues.

The Wand Waver digs her sensor into my abdomen and makes clucking sounds. “Can’t you find it?” I ask.

I get a playful dirty look. “Oh, I’ll find it,” she says.

After a time she tells me that I have a “horseshoe kidney”, a conjoined kidney, which is rare but not surprising. She’s snapping pictures of my innards all this time and we move on to the liver, the star of the show. I ask for a nice 8×10 colour or at least wallet sized photos.

“Now see, you were original before with the BBQ,” she says.