Wow, I don't know where to begin. I'm fortunate enough that none of my exes are anywhere even remotely close to my plane of existence. The last time I did the whole "this is my stepkid" thing it took me two years to pack him off to military school and about 4 months for him to fuck that opportunity straight up the ass. We haven't heard from him in years and I figure he must be somewhere between prison and a crack house by now probably within a block or so of my ex-husband.

I agree with Winnie that granny panties suck even though I don't watch Project Runway. ;) I've lost 7 pounds in 3 weeks and while that is a good thing I'm reticent to discuss it because I have no idea when I'll finally blow the whole thing and gain it all back and then some. How is that for some schizophrenic bitching, girls?

Meanwhile, it's Halloween weekend, I have a party planned for tomorrow night and my enthusiasm is waning as we speak, ahem. My sinuses are totally out of whack and it looks like my son is coming down with a cold. Oh, and I'm going to have to dye his hair jet black so he can pull off Elvis circa 1967 with his girlfriend (*cough* *cough* shoot me) going as Priscilla of the same era. My daughter has invited one of her best friends over tonight because I adore the girl (she is totally worthy of being a junior bitch and since you guys know my daughter you can imagine what her evil redheaded twin bf is like) and she's probably going to be the only thing that keeps me from forcing Elvis out of the building while I make Priscilla disappear Vegas style. As in, too many gambling debts and the mob is on to your ass, Vegas style.

Much love and bitchyness to you and yours, it's 10am and I need a fucking drink.

I never used to believe in those things that went bump in the night. Until 4 years ago this week when our friend died in a motorcycle accident. After he passed we frequently had little visits from him. The stereo in the garage used to turn on in the middle of the night, full volume to a local blues station. A station that we never listened to. He used to show up every now and then, turn on the radio, and after I would acknowledge him, it wouldn't happen for a few months.

We're all fascinated by what we cannot explain. Whether it's vampires (side note: Edward Cullen is NOT a vampire. He is a creepy stalker douche bag who needs to meet Buffy or Blade or even old skool Anita Blake in a dark alley), werewolves, ghosts, monsters, or God, we love to take things on faith.

Because, truly, that is what is comes down to. Faith. Belief in something beyond us, beyond the basic senses and it's something we have true control over. We either believe in something, or we don't. We can have a weak belief, or one that is strong enough to survive the test of time.

I believe in ghosts. Places I've lived... I don't have a choice in it.

Two little girls I would baby sit when I was fourteen, they would talk to "the old lady" all the time. Every night I was there, I'd be reading them a story, and they're talking to the old lady. At first, I thought the old lady was simply kids being kids. How children imagine things that aren't there.

Then I saw the old lady; I'd broken up with my first love, and I was still weepy over the whole thing (really, when is a teenage girl *not* weepy over a boy?) and I was holding the littlest girl in my lap, smelling her hair, when the old lady appeared on the chair across from me. She had the saddest smile on her face, her eyes swallowed up by wrinkled skin. I almost dropped the little girl in fright, and the old woman disappeared. I never again sat in that chair.

My very first apartment, I had a girlfriend spend the night (we'd had fights with our mutual partners and were having a 'men are scum' night), and after we went to bed, neither of us could sleep. We lay in that queen size bed, on our bellies, with pillows tucked under us just right and snuggled together for maximum warmth. Just as we'd doze off, we'd be jolted away by an old woman who got a thrill out of seeing us jump. I swear, if a ghost could laugh out loud, she'd have been rolling around cackling like a crazed witch.

This same old woman would check on my neighbors daughter when she was sick. She'd rub my forehead when I had a headache. Not a real rub, and not on command, but when I would be truly ill and want only to pass out to get away from the ache, I'd feel her touch me between the eyes. It didn't make the pain go away, but it reminded me of when I was small, and I'd feel better.

In that same side, I've felt the angry presence of someone who would not rub my forehead when I was hurting. If they had the chance, I fully believe they'd have shoved a spike in my eye and called it a day. Vanishing pools of blood on my bedroom floor, the sensation that I was being choked when I was completely alone, and shadows moving around my bed at night that had me terrified enough I'd leave during the witching hour and sleep in my car.

Not everyone caught in that forever twilight was at peace with their leaving.

Okay so this time of year ghosts and ghost stories and spookiness of all sorts seem to be everywhere. The supernatural has always been something I've been interested in. I love a good ghost story. Sometimes I don't even mind being part of a good ghost story. Like the time I was at a house alone and a disembodied voice whispered, "hello" in my ear.

My house is a new house, we're the only inhabitants it has ever had. Although, that doesn't really mean much when it comes to things that go bump in the night. Several months ago I was in bed watching television and reading a magazine. My bedroom door was closed, I heard the knob rattle and the door swung open and I could hear my husband and children all accounted for downstairs.

About a week or so later I was back on my bed watching "Bones" and I saw my son walk by the bedroom door. Actually I only saw him from the waist down but I would have sworn it was my son, so I called out to him and he didn't respond. I figured he didn't hear me so I went back to watching the show. A few minutes later my youngest daughter came bounding up the stairs and into my room. I asked her to get her brother for me that he was in his room.

"No, he's not, Mom!" She said emphatically.

"Yes, he is, just go check please."

"No, he's downstairs asleep on the couch."

I got up and checked all the bedrooms myself and sure enough, no one was else was upstairs and my son was sound asleep on the couch.

I admit that I am not a Stepford wife. I frequently make fun of women that are. But I do have one secret area of my life that could possibly be a tad Stepfordish (and yes - that is a word, because I just made it up!)

We waited excitedly for Halloween all year long when I was a kid. In my mind, Halloween was a bigger deal than Christmas. All that free candy! We lived on the outskirts of a tiny town and would hit the dozen or so houses there and then drive to the next biggest town to claim our big haul.

My favorite costume was a store-bought Sylvester the Cat. I don’t know why I loved being him so much. I went as that cat for 3 years in a row. The ironic part? I had a lisp when I was kid and people used to call me Sylvester to make fun of me. That didn’t taint my love for him though.

One year we didn’t get to go trick or treating because it was raining too hard. To ease our disappointment, Mom let my sister and I circle the house - knocking on the back door and then the front - multiple times while she gave us candy. I was okay with that. A chocolate bar is a chocolate bar. And, I got to be Sylvester.

I’ve only dressed up twice since I’ve been an adult. Years ago I was Wednesday from the Addam’s Family and a few years ago I went as an alien. When I ordered the latex alien head it didn’t occur to me that it might be too hot here to wear it. It came with latex hands and feet too. I wore it with a giant flannel jacket and walked around with the kids. I sweated my ass off and to make it worthwhile, I trick or treated for candy too.

Now that I'm an adult, I love Halloween for a completely different reason than I did as a child. When I was a kid, I loved the gobs of candy I'd take home and then gorge on while my mother wasn't looking.
As an adult, I love the kids. The costumes, the little dragons, the little princesses (or, in the case of one creative little girl, a dead zombie princess complete with murder weapons), and the old school ones of TMNT, Superman, Batman, etc.
I love to sit outside and hand out candy. Really, I take a blanket outside, set myself up with an extra blanket for warmth, a bowl of candy, and a lantern so the kids know to hit my house on their way by.
I even give candy to the teenagers, as long as their dressed up. No costume, no candy; I know, it makes me evil and mean, but dammit, it's Halloween! Dress up!
I had planned on being a saloon girl this year, but that kind of fell through. So, now, I'm just going to do heavy make up and hand out my candy like a good girl.
I'm not sure my fellow townspeople could handle me in a corset, heels, and fishnets... not to mention the fact I planned on carrying around a huge gin bottle with me (don't be crazy, it'd be full of water. Mainly because I'd have drank the gin already!)

Nothing spells irony on Halloween like dressing up as a witch and having your kid sister who is much thinner with perkier boobs show up in jeans and a tight t-shirt that says "The *real* Wicked Witch." It was completely unintentional and only partially amusing.

My sister is sort of an ass, like most siblings, anyway. Halloween 1983 I went as a Geisha. I was 6, my mom didn't know what a Geisha actually was. I guess mom lived in a bubble, too bad she didn't stay there (bada bump! I'll be here all week, folks)...

Anyway, I posted a picture of me dressed as a Geisha on Facebook and my sister says something about her having to go as a cat that year. Except, she didn't go as a cat that year. She went as a witch. The year she went as a cat was the year my mom wanted us to coordinate and I was a witch and she was my black cat. I didn't argue it with her because she'd insist she was a cat and I'd have to spend most of an afternoon searching through photo albums to find the picture of us together at my grandparents house with her dressed as a witch AND the picture from another year with me as a witch and her as the damn cat.

I've got a bigger bitch anyway. There was the Halloween that I didn't get to trick-or-treat because I caught a stomach bug that I (in my little kid mind) swore was brought on by munching too many pairs of wax lips during the class Halloween party. When I was a kid we dressed up in our costumes for school and very little was accomplished that day - EXCEPT instilling some wicked childhood memories, which in my opinion, should hold at least some value in this "no child left behind" world.

There were many years I didn't dress up for Halloween, well, all of my twenties anyway. I was more interested in dressing my kids up and doing the whole trick-or-treat thing. Last year was the first year I dressed up since I was probably 14. This year I'm going as Lucy to my husband's Charlie Brown. But, that's the grown up party on Saturday, on the actual day of Halloween I'll be dragging my kids around the neighborhood and answering the door making sure to tell all the pretty princesses how beautiful they look in their gowns and to have a good time at the ball.