Due to the hour time change, it's not too late for a Halloween recap.

Every year, Dan and I spend Halloween night doling out candy at Bec's house so she, Jeff and Mol can go trick or treating as a family and don't have to be the one house in the neighborhood with the lights out. Usually Dan and I have a couple of beers and watch a movie---last year it was Young Frankenstein---in the breaks between doorbell rings. This year, however, it was a par-tay. While Bec and Jeff went out trick or treating with their friends and a gaggle of costumed nuggets, Dan and I stayed home again but this time enjoyed the company of Cherie and bro-in-law Pete, Katie, Gary and Savvy and nieces Sammy and Alex (who were the most mature ones there). It was a laugh 'til you hurt kind of a night.

After the kids got their candy and got past us



they then had to make it past Cherie, a Halloween spaz if ever there was,



who sat, limp like the stuffed dummy (Frank) next to her, and would then jump up and scare the shizzle out of every pirate and Sponge Bob who crossed her path. As the kids bent over the candy bowl digging through the pile of sweets for Reese's Peanut Butter Pumpkins, Pete would push a little button on a remote control and from a little speaker hidden behind the dummy would come the wildly realistic and unmistakable sound of a gigantic fart. The kids would just look at each other and then at us giggling as we would feign stomach pain and crack up under our masks.

A few times we put the candy bowl on the Frank's lap and Cherie would grab the kids' hands as they reached in for a piece of chocolate. It was pretty funny when some 12-year-old slasher boy would make Cherie and shoot a cocky, "I'm not afraid of you," barb her way. Cherie would then throw her body forward and give a simple, "Boo!" and the kid would literally jump back thrusting his candy bag forward as a shield. When you frighten kids like this, especially boys, their fear triggers this pissed off effect which is funny but also sort of sweet. Still vulnerable, those little guys.

(Last night when A-Rod got hit with the ball on his first at-bat and seemed totally pissed, Dan said it was the same reaction as those boys getting scared on Halloween. A-Rod was hurt---it was a friggin' fastball to the back---but rather than show hurt, he showed pissed. Interesting to me. Recently I hit my head so hard on a desk---while coming up from underneath it, don't ask---it made me cry but as Dan was right there and let out the slightest of laughs, this frustrated fury rose so quickly inside of me that I didn't talk to him for like 20 minutes. Maybe it's not just little boys...)

Scaring the tweens cracked us up but then we had to also laugh at ourselves, a bunch of 30-year old kids, giggling and pointing at 12-year-olds in fear. "Haha! You're scared!" we were basically saying. At some point a mother started marching up Becky's driveway and we were sure we were about to get our asses handed to us. Immediately I was 15-years-old again, heart beating out of my chest, ready to get in trouble and to try to talk my way out of it. We took off our masks and readied for it as the mom picked up her pace and headed towards us. (It was all I could do not to point at Cherie and say, "She did it!") But when she finally reached us she smiled and said her kid was too scared to come up so she just wanted to pick up his candy. "Oooooh," I said, feeling badly. "Take five pieces!"

Then as the mom walked away, Pete pushed his little button, a long fart stretched through the quiet night and the group of us of buckled over in laughter.

Once Bec and friends and all the kids (cracked out on sugar) came home, we all continued to gorge on both buffalo chicken and spinach and artichoke dip, chili, a cheese and cracker platter, cupcakes, apple pie (my contribution---homemade crust---holla!), and of course lots and lots of candy. (Dan's candy corn infused vodka was apparently pretty tasty straight-up but I only tried it in a cordial with Grand Marnier and sour mix.) It was as fun a Halloween as I've had in years.

(The last Halloween party I went to was when I was 19---really?!---and the guy I liked ended up hooking up with the party's host. Distraught, I had to get out of there and for the first and last time in my life, drove home drunk. (Not crazy drunk, but drunk.) Of course, I got pulled over. When the cop came to my window I started frantically talking to him about how I'm not from around here and I'm not really sure where I am and is this Rt.155? and I'm sorry my car is such a mess---empty cigarette packs everywhere---and it's been a rough night so I'm sorry if I was speeding.

He laughed at me and said, "Well it's clear you're not drunk so..." and he let me go.

That officer was so nice. I still feel badly about it.)

I'm glad to have replaced that memory, though.

At the end of the night Dan and I snuck out and took the golf cart---which they had procured for schlepping the kids through the hilly neighborhood---out for a spin. The dark streets were emptying and the rain and heavy winds were picking up. The piles of leaves were blowing around, hitting the golf cart windshield and the clouds parted to reveal a full moon. We heard a growling in the distance and it grew louder and louder until we realized it wasn't growling at all. It was...





a giant, juicy fart. Happy belated Halloweenie!

Chirl always made Halloween more fun. I think it was only a matter of months before she moved on to real cigarettes. (This is one of my favorite pics---the hand on the shoulder kills me---and what I hope will be my author picture in The Bookish. Can that count as my Melliterary Spew progress for this week?)

She still does.