Halloween on a budget

Okay, so I dressed up for halloween. And, I'm not going to lie...but our Scooby Doo gang outfits? Our HOMEMADE Scooby Doo gang outifts? They rocked the house. As I told my parents, "If you just look at us, I think we did pretty good. At least, you can figure out who we're trying to be. If you compare us to a picture of the ACTUAL Scooby Doo gang, notsomuch." Still, we had fun....and I'm now a firm believer that homemade costumes are far superior to store bought items. Especially for the hilarity component. My brother's wig (and his wife's) were the funniest things ever.

Sidenote: I think that both the boy's outfit and mine cost a total of $12.00 - for everything. I heart Goodwill. The only reason the total was $12.00 and not $8.00 is because I bought the socks new. Not wearing hand-me-down socks. Ew.

The boy has been growing out his hair for over a month - just for me, he says. He still hasn't cut it off, though, so I'm not sure I believe him. My hair? I just tucked it into the turtleneck. It's currently longer than it ever has been, and while its days at this length are numbered, I'm not sure I want to go THAT short. My turtleneck (that I'm convinced is the only orange one in Indianapolis) was about two sizes too big. After frantically calling my friends to see if they had clothing that would help me out, I finally just gathered it in the back with a safety pin. After all, the pictures were from the front, and that's all that mattered. Classy.

My brother and his wife hosted the party at their new home. It had really cool decorations, plenty of beverages, beer pong and cornhole. I'm too old for beer pong, but "Shaggy" and "Velma" ruled at cornhole. I'm just sayin'.

Just for fun I'm including a second picture of "Freddy" tossing "Shaggy" a "Scooby Snack." This picture was taken later in the evening, I can't even FIND the "scooby snack" in the picture, and I'm fairly certain that it was not caught, but this should give you an idea of how the party went.

Sidenote: At the beginning of the evening, the boy and I were exhausted and dreading our mandatory attendance at this party where we were part of a group costume. We were all, "We should have just dressed up in something else on our own so we could decided whether or not to go..." We ended up having fun, and I'm so glad we went... but at the same time, I was shocked at the number of "couple costumes." Seriously. Most of my brother's friends are married, but I didn't realize that "married" meant "mandatory couples costume." Sheesh. When I realized this, I was immensely relieved that we were part of a group costume. I would have felt much more ridiculous had I gone out on my own in a random costume idea. (But at the same time, I'm sort of bummed that I didn't think of this idea.)

Not the Sexy One

So, Halloween is approaching. It's one of my favorite holidays, but I'll be honest and say that I haven't dressed up as anything other than "Emily" or "typical late 20 year old" or "returning student" in years. I've also spent the last 6 apartment dwelling years handing out the "good candy" to trick-or-treaters if only because there are remarkably few trick-or-treaters in apartment complexes, and I get to keep the left overs.

But this year, my little brother and his wife live near Indianapolis, and if I like Halloween, they love Halloween. They're already planning their Halloween party, and it didn't take long for them to hit up me and the boy for a costume idea. What is it, you ask? Well, I'll get to that.

First, a word about my little brother and his wife. (And by "little" I mean "younger." There is nothing "little" about the genetically blessed, 6'0" tall, blue eyed handsome man that I am related to. We also could not be more polar opposite... Luckily I am saved from bitterness about his genetic good luck by having multiple embarrassing photos of the chubby little precursor [with one very unfortunate hair cut] to the handsome adonis who now greets me with "Hey sis." Not that photos of my younger years aren't equally embarrassing, it's just that I don't care, and my brother would rather believe he emerged from the womb the perfect male specimen he is today.) My brother and his wife are the golden couple. They met in high school, dated through college, got married, honeymooned in Hawaii, bought the perfect house and will now set about filling the perfect house with perfect furniture until they decide to procreate and have perfect children. If I didn't love my brother so much, all of that would be intensely irritating. As it is, his wife and I definitely have our differences to work through, but I'm sure we'll make it there someday. (right??)

I'm in a bind here because I don't want to post a picture of my brother and sister-in-law without their permission, but I also don't want to tell them about my blog. So basically, what I'm going to do is post a picture of me and the boy that my brother and sister-in-law happen to be in, and hope they never find out. I'm not using their names, so the chances of someone stumbling upon their picture with a google search is remote, right? (right??) So here we are in all of our familial glory.

Guess who's who.

Now, if you look at that group, what group Halloween costume comes to mind? Anything?? Anything?? I guess you might have to know each person's personalities a bit better to know which direction I'm heading in, so let me help. We've covered the brother and sister-in-law's perfection. How about if I mention that the boy is more comfortable in khakis than in a suit. And if you haven't inferred it, the boy is a bit...um... laid back. Relaxed. Chill about life. And me? I love to read.

Nothing yet? K. Here's a hint.

The funny thing is that when the idea was brought up, no one had to ask what character they would be playing. There was a bit of awkwardness when my brother and sister-in-law talked about who they were going to be, like they didn't want to assume, but seriously. I mean, my clean-cut brother being Shaggy? Please. Maybe Scooby, but that was never really considered. :-) And me as Daphne? Seriously? I mean, be the sexy one? There's no way I would do it. (Not that I couldn't play that role and wouldn't like to be asked, ahem...) Anyway, aren't Fred and Daphne a couple? And don't Shaggy and Scooby (possibly to be played by Tyson in a mask - can't wait until I get to blog about THAT story) get along best? Of course I was going to be short, not as attractive (and yet always smarter,) Velma (who has about zero sex appeal.) Fabulous. I'm thrilled. Can't wait. Sign me up. (I guess I should have read this article sooner.)

In retrospect, what I should have done was "assumed" that I was going to play Daphne and waited to see how long it would have taken my brother to call me and let me know that actually, I am supposed to be playing the role of Velma. THAT would have been a fun conversation to let him stumble through. Damn.

And then I realize that it is their Halloween party. And they are the ones who really love Halloween. I guess don't mind playing a supporting role in this costume that will make their Halloween so special*. I'll be the "not sexy one" this time. No problem. It just means I get to choose the next group Halloween costume. Any suggestions?

(This would be where I insert that I am obviously not dead and have miraculously lived through the "sinus infection" and only have remnants of a cough left...though I'm still sleeping a ton. Yay for not dying!!!)

*oh, and the Halloween party is taking place at the perfect house where I'll make sure Tyson has the perfect accident on the perfect basement carpet.

Keeping up with the Joneses

I exhibited the sort of grievous error in judgement that I would expect from a twenty-year-old, and it happened on Saturday night. This past Saturday night to be exact. This past Saturday night in 2008 when I am well on my way to being thirty-one and supposed to be an "adult."

I attempted to out-drink my sister in law and I failed. Miserably.

To be fair, it did not begin as an attempt to out-drink my sister in law. It began as "Ooohhh! Yummy margaritas!" and ended with "Wow. Their toilet is really clean from this angle. That's impressive."

The backstory to this event goes back to New Years Eve of this year when I unwittingly out-drank my new sister in law. Out-drank as in, I was fine the next day, and she had a nice visit with the toilet in the cabin we were staying at. Unwittingly as in I didn't realize we were in competition until she told me, "Emily, my mistake was trying to keep up with you. Not many women can out drink me, and I was trying to match you drink for drink."

If you have met my sister in law, the absurdity of her trying to out drink me would be apparent. She's taller than I am, at about 5'7", but she weighs maybe 115 lbs. I'm shorter, but I have many (many) more curves in which to store excess alcohol. Besides, I have my rich Italian heritage to fall back on. (Then again, she's German...I should have considered that. Shoot.)

Which brings us to Saturday night. I went over to my little brother's house for some dinner. I had had a rough (read: traumatic) Saturday volunteering and really just wanted to relax and forget the day had happened. While dinner was cooking, my brother mixed me a drink that had four shots and some diet Pepsi in it. Why on EARTH I did not decline that drink is beyond me. (but I did feel better about the horrible day after drinking that drink...) Dinner progressed and after the four shot mystery drink, I switched to a margarita. 'Twas good.

At this point it was suggested that I go and get the boy, and we all hang out together. Perhaps play some bags? Perhaps just drink and chat? Pool? (of the table variety, not the swimsuit variety.) So I go and get the boy. Everyone is merry, everyone is playing bags (Emily and the boy win, ahem,) and Emily continues to drink margartias. Sister in law switches to beer. Emily pays no mind and continues with the yummy margaritas.

Everything at that point becomes hazy. I know there was a point where we were all talking, and I was lying on the couch. I know there was a point when it became immediately apparent to me that I should probably move to the bathroom. An indeterminate amount of time passed, and the boy came to check on me. There was laughing, I was joking and being light-hearted while not moving my head from the cool, reassuring toilet. The light-heartedness was only for my audience's benefit. When they weren't around, I was pathetically wimpering into the toilet and begging God to take me from this cruel world. (Apparently melodrama does not go away with increased alcohol consumption. Did I mention that I'm supposed to be an adult?)

There was a picture taken of little brother posing while Emily's head was in the toilet (I hate everyone) and there was a constant mantra from Emily of "I have to drive to Ikea tomorrow." Everyone got a kick out of that. They assured me that I wouldn't, in fact, be driving anywhere tomorrow, and several "nokia" jokes were made. I asked what time it was (1:30am!!!) and at that point (with the responsibility that I had to fulfill firmly in mind) I finally told the boy that I wanted to go home.

I have no memory of the ride home, I vaguely remember the boy letting go of me for a moment while he opened my front door, and taking that opportunity to sit on the ground. He seemed upset by this. I also vaguely remember (and asked for confirmation the next day) that the boy seemed to find this extreme drunken-ness adorable. Why? Apparently it's not often that I am this "vulnerable" and "need him so much." Hmmm. I'm sure there's a lesson in there that I need to learn.

I think I remember trying to let the dogs out before the boy steered me to my bed and assured me that he would take care of them. (Looking at my basement stairs, I'm SO glad he caught me before I attempted to go down them.) I'm pretty sure I got a cold nose in my face before the dogs were again put away. I KNOW I remember Casey crying at 6:00am, trying to get out of bed to let her out, failing miserably, and wimpering to the boy that if he would let the dogs out, I would be forever in his debt. He did so without complaint. Impressive.

I somehow had remembered to set my alarm for 9:30am. (I was meeting friends to head to Ikea at 11:00am.) I woke up, felt about a THOUSAND times better than I had the previous evening (it's all relative, right?) and took a shower. What I had forgotten about hangovers is that they seem to keep creeping up on you the more you move around. After the shower (where I shaved my legs. What? Was I still drunk?) there was quite a bit of the boy laughing at me, another visit to my toilet, certainty that I would never be able to get dressed and would have the embarrassment of my friend showing up when I was naked, and finally lying on the couch cursing Jose Cuervo. (I did manage to get dressed. I'm not sure I matched though - Diane?) At this point it became apparent that I would not, in fact, be driving to Ikea. I think Blue sensed that I was not well and curled up next to me on the couch. I couldn't have moved that 50lb dog if I had wanted to. So I gave in and snuggled with him and hoped he could make the massive headache subside.

He couldn't.

So, I thought, perhaps if someone else drove, I could still attend the outing? I nixed that thought when I remembered that I get carsick in cars when I'm NOT hungover.

So while the boy watched a movie, and the dogs napped, I closed my eyes, wished for salvation from the pain, and tried to figure out how to not go to Ikea and not feel like an ass.

There was no way for that to happen.

Luckily, my friend was understanding. I'm assuming that I looked like complete hell when I saw her - I'm not really sure... But she did mention something along the lines of me not looking well. Our conversation was dominated by me trying to explain why I'm so sorry I'm an idiot, and simultaneously trying to figure out why the sunlight was made of thousands of tiny daggers that were stabbing into my brain. She was much nicer than I would have been, and for that, I'm grateful.

It wasn't until about 4:00pm that I felt some semblance of normalcy. I ate some popcorn at 2:00pm, slept through an entire movie, and then woke up at four feeling groggy, but alive.

So basically, I drank alcohol for about four hours, and then recovered in fourteen. I thought stupid decisions like that were reserved for the youth of America. Apparently not. Shoot.

I would like to say that I'm never drinking again. Unfortunately, one moment that is crystal clear from Saturday night was being helped in my car by the boy and overhearing my sister in law say to my brother, "I'm so sad. My last worthy adversary and I have defeated her. Who's left?"

Last time I checked, it was one to one, sister. We're going to need a best out of three before we start using words like "defeated."

I'm a Turkey

So, I obviously gave up on the daily blogging. As my friend Kat(i)e so wisely realized when I told her my plan to blog every day, I just don't have the time. (I know I should be disturbed that my friends see my life so much more clearly than I do...but I've always had too much on my plate at once. Always. Perhaps I should learn to bite off no more than I can chew, huh?)

I'm off to the parent's house this evening. Casey has had three days straight of daycare, and currently looks like this picture. At least, she should look like that. Last night she had enough energy to wrestle with Tyson and break a coaster. (Of course, I wasn't home, and the boyfriend swears he "only took his eyes off of them for a minute." Then he mentioned that he had to use the restroom, and that was why they were unsupervised. Which is when the scenario became crystal clear. I don't know what men do in the bathroom, ladies, but I'm sure he was in there long enough for the dogs to get up to all SORTS of mischief. But I digress...) I swear my dog has enough energy to power a small city. And she's almost two - shouldn't this "puppy" stage be ending soon?! (FYI her birthday is November 25th. Feel free to send cards and doggie biscuits.)

So we're off to visit the grandparents. Casey is not only tired out, she's getting a bath today. The grandparents are under the impression that Casey is not only well behaved, but also "never smells like dog." Uh huh. We'd like to keep that illusion going for as long as possible. I figure it ensures she's always welcome in their house.

Thanksgiving has an uncharted dynamic this year. I'm not sure how it works in other families, but in mine, holidays are strictly for family. Since my little brother got married in June, this is the first official holiday with a new member of the family. I'm interested to see how it goes, but most importantly, interested to see if I still get first dibs on my childhood bedroom (the room that currently has the only queen size bed on the second floor...) I mean, it is my room, but then again, putting my little bro and wife in a full size bed doesn't really seem fair, now does it? Does that seem like something I would do?? (I'm currently supressing the evil grin.)

Seriously though, the little brother is staying at my parent's house, but eating Thanksgiving dinner at his wife's parent's house. I think my mom is having a little bit of trouble with this empty nest thing, seeing as how she's about a half step away from inviting strangers on the street over for Thanksgiving dinner. Hmmm...

But in the grand tradition begun last year, I thought I would list the things that I am most thankful for this year.

1) A cat who helps me teach my boyfriend to put his clothes where they should be.

2) A dog who reminds me every day that no matter how yesterday ended, I should be ecstatic to see the people I love in the morning.

3) Good hair. It's one thing about my appearance that I don't have to obsess about.

4) The Packers' season. Because, I mean, who saw THAT coming?

5) A budget that allowed me to buy a new car this year. Heated seats are da bomb!

6) The spa gift certificate that the boyfriend gave me for Christmas last year which I miraculously didn't forget about, and will use on December 1st :-)

7) My parents. Without my interesting, dynamic, caring, supportive, fun loving, and slightly dysfunctional family, I would be just another pretty face...

8) Fantasy Football. Because humility is a lesson you just can't learn too often.

9) My friends. Because my friends are better than your friends.

10) My boyfriend. Because he's teaching me patience, and patience is a virtue. Right?

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!! I hope you get to spend it with people you care about.

No basis for comparison

The following story isn't bad. It's not weird. I just have nothing (and I mean absolutely nothing) in my life that remotely compares to this, so it had an affect on me. My reaction is not meant to offend....I just, you know, want to share.

The Indiana State Fair was in town from August 8 - 19th. On August 11th, the boyfriend and I decided to spend some time at the fair as per our annual tradition. It was beastly hot, and I volunteer on Saturday mornings, so we waited until about 5:00pm to make our trek down to the fairgrounds. Since we live quite a bit north of the fairgrounds, and parking (and traffic) usually suck, the boyfriend suggested that we take the fair train. The depot is about 1 mile from our apartment, and the train drops you off just outside the fairgrounds.

Thus, Emily took her first train ride. Not only that, but we upgraded to first class on the way to the fair, so we got to ride in the first class car. Woo Hoo, big spenders, huh? It was awesome.

While it was my first train ride, this was not my first visit to the State Fair. I love the State Fair. Where else can you indulge in all manner of things fried, pet a cow, and ride a ferris wheel all in one night? (side note: there is a similar occasion in my hometown called the "Fall Festival" which I have loyally attended for years. However, the State Fair has slowly taken over the #1 position for my favorite place with fried foods. Why? Because the State Fair has animals. Fall Festival has none. I love the sheep. Bah.) This year, the new fried food was fried Pepsi. I kid you not. It was basically fried dough made with Pepsi with some Pepsi flavored syrup on top. Nate and I shared some because - you know - it's the State Fair. You sort of have to.

After the fried Pepsi, I had some fried pickles. Then, feeling thouroughly ill, I abstained from all other food for the night. The boyfriend played some of the (rigged) games to try and win me a huge stuffed animal that would then make its way to Goodwill, we visited the sheep, the cows, the horses, and the pigs...I rode a life-sized rocking horse (probably the oldest person to try THAT particular stunt) we took a turn on the ferris wheel....and then we made our way home. All in all, an enjoyable evening.

My mother had mentioned that my brother and his wife would be at the state fair, and why didn't we go with them? My brother's in laws were all in town because one of his brothers in law was playing the piano in the talent competition, and the other had a pig to show.

I was confused. A pig to show? "Yes," my mother explained. "A pig that he raised to show at the fair."

Oh. Okay. I had heard of such things.

I didn't think of it again until I spoke to my mother last night. Apparently my brother's mother in law had stopped by with wedding pictures for my mom. They met to see what each one had purchased and have some coffee. My mother also mentioned that she had received a surprise present.

"She brought me some pork chops. The pig got fourth place."

"So they KILLED it?" I was horrified.

After more amused discussion (on my mother's side), it became apparent that they hadn't killed the pig just because he got fourth place....it was just that, you know, he had been shown, he got fourth place....his purpose in life was fulfilled. He is now pork chops.

There are SO many questions running through my mind that I don't dare ask. Did they make the boy who raised the pig kill it too? Is it a rite of passage sort of thing? Did he smear blood on his cheeks like warpaint? Is he now a man? Who actually butchered the pig and cut those pork chops? Would I be able to eat the chops from a pig that I knew - even if only by reputation? Did I miss out on some experience of growth because I didn't care and raise an animal only to eventually eat it?

I understand that some animals are killed for food. I know this. I'm an avid steak eater, and I am not under the impression that there's a "steak tree" somewhere from which my succulent filet mignons come. I know that one person's "Bessie" is another person's overpriced dinner. I get that. But...I'm not eating MY Bessie. I'm not even eating a Bessie that I saw the other day (at least, I don't think....)

You might think that because of this reaction, I would never be able to handle the death of any animal... that's incorrect. When I'm a veterinarian (God willing) I will most definitely be one of those vets who cries along with you when your loving family pet has to be put down....but I will have no problem administering the euthenasia. Because, you know, IT'S NOT MY ANIMAL! I didn't raise it from babyhood, lovingly feed it, groom it, prepare it for show....

Again, I have no basis of comparison for this. I wasn't raised on a farm or anything like that. I do NOT think that killing an animal for food is wrong. I just don't understand how it's done. Maybe the relationship you form with an animal that you're eventually going to eat is different than, say....the relationship I have with my dog? (Whom I'm never going to eat, by the way.)

I don't know though, man....I saw those baby piglets. They sure are cute.

The Age Difference

My little brother got engaged a couple of weeks ago.

Let me say that again.

My brother, who happens to be 5 years my junior, got engaged. To be married. To his high school sweetheart nonetheless.

And you know what? I thought I would be upset about this.

I thought it would be emotionally traumatizing to see my younger brother go through this rite of passage before me. I thought it would make me fall to pieces and question everything about my life and what I've accomplished thus far.

Instead, I find myself really happy for him and his fianceé.

(whew. I'm glad to find out that deep inside, I actually AM a good person.)

I mean, I'm a cynical person. I can't help but make jokes about the "perfectness" of it all. He's adorable, his fianceé is beautiful, they're high school sweethearts, they were originally going to get married on a beach in Hawaii... it's enough to make someone, well...sick. My first thought was that something that perfect couldn't actually be real. My second thought was to take comfort in the fact that you don't truly appreciate love until you've been devastated by it.

Then I thought, "You know what? That's crap."

My path through life has been drastically different than my little brother's, but that's what makes me me, and makes him him. Instead of catalouging the various ways that my scars make me superior...

I find myself rooting for him. You go little brother. This will work out for you. This will be wonderful and perfect and fun and true. I have faith that your path will be everything you want it to be, and I wish you every happiness. I'm glad I'm here to watch you go through it.

Now I get to sit back and watch the wedding plans commence. THAT should be fun :-)