For Halloween this year, I was going to go as Buffy. But then I got cheap and lazy, and maybe a wee bit dejected that tonight there are no parties to attend. So my impromptu backup costume is Kathleen Hanna. I will write SLUT on my belly, smear red lipstick on la bouche, take scissors to an old tank top, put my hair up, and maybe find an old (my my) MetroCard.
The best costume I had was a Crayola. I was three. My artist father created a little red cone-shaped hat, and my mom sewed a felt crayon wrapper to go around my little body. I wore red tights and bright red rosy cheeks and a smile.
A dark cloud hovers over this year's holiday. Yesterday, my doctor gently scolded me for eating so many sweets (or "treats" as I invariably call them). Now I am allowed to eat treats only twice a week. The doctor seemed to think that this would be a reasonable, easy regimen. But how can you go from three or four treats per diem to two per week? No more creme brulee dinners, no more fun as I grudgingly turn to wheat germ and yogurt with raisins.
The Onion hasn't been very funny lately. The stories just seem predictable these days, humor without bite. Perhaps the Onion writers should move back to the midwest from Manhattan. The midwest is a more easily amusing place; we have mullets and F-150 trucks and twangy accents.
The best costume I had was a Crayola. I was three. My artist father created a little red cone-shaped hat, and my mom sewed a felt crayon wrapper to go around my little body. I wore red tights and bright red rosy cheeks and a smile.
A dark cloud hovers over this year's holiday. Yesterday, my doctor gently scolded me for eating so many sweets (or "treats" as I invariably call them). Now I am allowed to eat treats only twice a week. The doctor seemed to think that this would be a reasonable, easy regimen. But how can you go from three or four treats per diem to two per week? No more creme brulee dinners, no more fun as I grudgingly turn to wheat germ and yogurt with raisins.
The Onion hasn't been very funny lately. The stories just seem predictable these days, humor without bite. Perhaps the Onion writers should move back to the midwest from Manhattan. The midwest is a more easily amusing place; we have mullets and F-150 trucks and twangy accents.
Labels: halloween
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