Holiday Color Combo

Though the weather has been turning cooler, the last time I checked it still said September on most calendars except for apparently the ones in ALL stores that sell the things. Can it be that my beady peeps are deceiving MEeps or is Halloweeny’s orange and black getting devil-horned in on by Christmasy red and green.  Like that weird spiced ice cream with pie chunks at Dairy Queen, this odd combo thing must be a seasonal fad because last year I saw the same color palette except it was all growing on my shriveled, month-old, rotting pumpkin.

Since both of us have never liked crunches or sticky situations, I am not sure how candy canes or I am going to handle the seasonal food and confections situation with all this new age celebratory melding. It takes a big brained elf with waxy lips, and popcorn balls in hand to be able to comprehend and consume ‘toasted pumpkin seeds’ and choco Chanukah gelt all in the same month of the year. I already knew that Frosty was keeping warm by dipping in the cider more often than proper but I never guessed that batty Drac had tuned his toothy straws toward the tannenbaum taste of holiday nog.

I’m all for doubling up colorful calendar red lettered days like Black Friday and White sales, as long as you leave my birthday out of it since I already have all the wrinkles and wisdom I can stand. You can also skip two-timing delivering the letters of any color from the greeting card people since at $5 a pop, they have obviously ALREADY doubled down on their prices, lack of creativity, and hackneyed double entendres. At least glossy cards can do double-duty over email in one sense by doubling my toilet paper stash – though they never seem as soft or absorbent as the bevy of monthly mailed bills do.

Since I typically give out cookies that taste like dog treats anyway, my fireplug and I are actually looking forward to the Wolfman visiting on Halloween dressed as a harried Keebler Elf this year. To get in the combo spirit and if the caribou union will allow it, maybe even ol’ St. Nick himself could slip in a few flying monkeys with the reindeer train this December. Of course only as long as everyone is well mannered, fling-free, and adequately diapered - since due to inflation, Santa’s oversized red bag doesn’t hold as much stuff as it used to. 

Fear of FALLing Pledge

I enjoy all the seasons though a mild and balanced Spring is my favorite with Summer running a close second since I can finally shed my brown flannel-flapped insulated drawers n’ boots in favor of  breezy green jungle undies over ashen glutes. Winter signals a slow hunkering down, more work, and risk of injury but it also brings the fellowship of the holiday season and a new year marker for yet another chance to live life more thoughtfully and try  ‘again’ next time to get it ALL right. But Fall is indeed the wolf in sheep’s clothing since beautiful lush, flowing foliage turns auburn and drawn overnight, wilts, and drops millions of reminders of the work ahead and the loss of once warm temps and long lazy days left behind.

Yes I fear the crispened cool air bearing down and the change of color that so many flock to see and  celebrate because it represents a half year of hideaway hibernation ahead. Though I know it is good for me in many ways, I don’t relish the relentless ‘exercise’ it takes to clean up all of those tree leavings, comings and goings. I can’t ignore the encapsulating blanket of leafy convergence upon the doors, cars, and LIFE so something has to be done with them or my wife, post office guy, and vandals WILL surely notice when they can’t get near the house to do their bidding. 

Oh sure I prepare by stocking up on all of the right tools to help blow, suck, and grind-up whatever I can but in the end, there are more piles of debris than there is pavement to pile it all on. Sometimes I lament my life because it seems so unfair that I have a monopoly on a truly coveted cruddy leaf commodity. Why should others only dream of the wealth that I have amassed - so this year I have a generous plan to make life ‘more fair’ and share my leafy-luxury with the 99% of my community who are less fortunate and haven’t yet FALLen for the benefits of true socialism.

Why should I be so selfish and uncaring to my fellow man when most people aren’t lucky enough to live on the cusp and breathe in the warm and welcoming mildewy-musk, of a giant forested mulch pit? My generous and overly sensitive nature shall no longer know the fear of falling toward the dark side (even under the cover of darkness) and staying self-centered and greedy like in my shady past. From now on I vow to do my best by bulking-up bags of leaves, sticks, and pine needles to gift to each of my neighbors, trick or treatsters, or charity solicitors and help all who must face Fall - longing, leafless, and in genuine need.

Hot Auction Heaven

For recreation and divine perspiration my wife and I bid and spirit stuff from all types of auctions. It’s not that we need anything in particular but we enjoy perusing through other people’s junk and paying a premium for heaving their leavings. What better way to embrace my life’s short history than being crammed into a small space with an OLD bunch of hunched  sweaty coots rubbing up and competing against me for dusty, rusty, and musty stuff-ty.      

         

Being raised by wolves I guess I am compensating for the fact that I survived a ‘hairy’ repressed childhood where the value of most ‘things’ was gauged on how they tasted or how good they felt to sleep on. My folks never let me beg for leftovers at mealtimes or settle for broken chew toys when growing up in a hut, so now I’m forced to seek out and make up for those lost experiences as an adult. At least my heritage explains my Husky size, the constant panting after a walk to the refrigerator, and my persistent dog breath the dentist so often complains about when scoping out my blow hole.   

I fit in well with the auction scene – where else can a saddle-burr like me give somebody the finger and they simply raise the price rather than beat in my face or cuss me out. Fortunately most of my twitchy TICks come from my watch rather than the forest, but I do have to be mindful to avoid conspicuous emanations, gesticulations and random bump scratching during furious bidding. When the wife risks prosecution for leaving a minor unattended, I do all the major work myself like folding the bid-card into an airplane, so it’s obvious that until she returns I have no one to do my bidding. 

I’m dangerously distractible and easily mesmerized by expensive shiny objects, so most lowly estate auctions are a safe escape since there is little risk of finding anything chrome toned or pit-free except for a few buffed n’ bald heads. Generally at most auction gatherings the only thing more weathered and craggy than the junk they’re hawking is the stuffed seizure-geezers who glue themselves, and defend rabidly, centered front rows of orderly padded seats. When my number’s ultimately up I hope heaven is just like this, except instead of white shrouds and wings, the ‘auction enlightened’ will proudly ‘peacock’ their rough stubble, patinaed pitch forks, patched pants, and dirty denim vests … and oh yeah,  since I’m there it will be LOTS hotter if that’s possible!

Crowned King

Since I have very little need to greet people on a red carpet, I have resorted to dosing my choppers in a regular bath of black coffee and diet soda. Yes while most folks spend heaps of their piggy treasure whitening their vamp-snackers, I darken mine to match the clotted parts of my heart. Still since I prefer to chew rather than gum Trident or other fishing equipment during my Poseidon adventures, I dutifully brush my food funnel frequently to ensure a glossy glare from my snappers as well as my peepers.

Unfortunately from time to time after gnawing on bones, toenails, or other waste can wonders, I will crack a hidden tooth deep down in my craw of awe. Rarely do I notice such events since I have 31 more back-ups and the only requirement for being a Chupacabra anyway is to howl, wear goat’s clothing and wolf down anything – not grin or bear it. Sadly however, my chops suffered a chip in the family that was hard to hide as I inadvertently nicked a corner off of one of my big upper front and center porcelain chew toys. 

On the plus side, I can open cans now without a church key and I also have new-found kinship for that bowl-cut dude in the Dumb and Dumber movie. Straws seem to feel far more streamlined and efficient too as they seamlessly slide inside my remaining teeth rather than clenched in between. Clearly my dream as a dental floss model has to be put on hold for awhile and yes, whistling is a thing of the past -except for the when the wind blows between my ears.

Fear not I still have a sliver of pride yet to extinguish so I donned my best red vest to obscure blood loss evidence, popped in a curiously strong mint to hinder halitosis, and saw a dentist to fix my malady. After my tooth fairy dissuaded me from breaking off the corner of the adjacent tooth so I could have a matching pair of bookends and face a hillbilly Dracula’s dental deliverance, I consented to a cap. Admittedly eating corn cobs without leaving a row behind is easier now and so is cat-calling ice-cream trucks from construction sites, though the next time I get crowned I hope it’s at a fat pageant as the creepy burger KING!