Author Archives: Nicole Boyhouse

In my day, the Sexiest Man Alive only had one tattoo, a forearm anchor.

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Every year, I – and several of my friends, what’s up Hannah, Nan, and Beck? – tackle the important work of disseminating the annual People’s Sexiest Man Alive list. Side note: Sexiest Man Alive? Does that wording suddenly seem strange to anyone else or is it just me? Remember when Matt Damon won the honour and he passed it on to Tom Brady? Now, that’s cool AND sexy.

In any case, I’ve written a number of posts about this in the past – here and here and here and here if you’re interested. But this year, I’m feeling rather befuddled about the Sexiest Man Alive list.

Do you know how it is when you realize that a certain era has passed? When you realize you’re not a “young mother” anymore, maybe, so you probably don’t need this giant diaper bag instead of a purse. Or maybe one day you realize that no, you really cannot shop at Forever 21. It’s that moment when you realize that you might think you’re hip and all that, but really, you kind of look like the crypt keeper who stole your teenage niece’s clothes. You suddenly realize that at 8:00 pm on any given Friday night twenty years ago, you were uncomfortably snapping your bodysuit underneath your high waisted jeans and spritzing yourself with Calvin Klein’s Obsession on your way to the club where you hoped they would play “I Like To Move It (Move It)” whereas now at 8:00 pm on any given Friday you’re wearing Snoopy pajamas, a mud masque, and drinking wine on your couch while watching reruns of The Sopranos?

What I’m saying, here, is that I have now realized I am not the target audience for People’s Sexiest Man Alive list. I know, I know, this should not be a shocking realization, but it IS. The majority of the list is, to me, full of young men I would refer to as “boys”. As in, “those are nice-looking boys”. As in, I’ve turned into my own grandmother. Example number one:

http://www.people.com/people/package/gallery/0,,20315920_20757637,00.html#30054062
from people.com

Hey, I like his music as much as the next teenage girl, but he’s so young! And short! And young! And he’s wearing red pants and a palm tree shirt and I just can’t get behind that. I AM TOO DAMN OLD.

How about this guy?

http://www.people.com/people/package/gallery/0,,20315920_20757637,00.html#30055030
from people.com

 

He is approximately the same age as the kid across the street to whom I accidentally flashed my underwear once, two years ago and who now watches me when I do yardwork. It’s uncomfortable for everyone involved. Especially for me. But this Rowan Farrow fellow was apparently fathered by Frank Sinatra back in the late eighties, I guess, which means old Frank was more virile than his fictional Johnny Fontane persona would have one believe. That’s an interesting fact, but it does not change the fact that he was born when I was in junior high school.

Sure, I think Jimmy Fallon is funny, but he reminds me more of the type of guy you’d be buddies with and then find out later that he really had a thing for you and that wrecked the whole friendship, dammit, Harry Burns was right, men and women really can’t be friends. Justin Timberlake is someone who I admire very much as he seems to be really happy, someone who is self-effacing and funny, and I do enjoy his music. Plus he’s a vegetarian! A vegetarian AND singer of Dick in a Box? Well, that’s a winning combo in my books. But he’s still too damn young; I would classify him in the “nice looking young man” category.

Adam Levine, though. Adam Levine. My husband watches that show The Voice and every single time it comes on we have this conversation:

Me: I just don’t get what the deal is with that Adam Levine guy.

Mr: What?

Me: He’s just not that attractive.

Mr: Yes, he is. You’re the only woman in the world who would say that.

Me: I think he’s creepy.

Mr: If you polled a million women right this minute, all of them would say that he’s attractive.

Me: I wouldn’t.

Mr: Well, you’re the only one.

EVERY SINGLE TIME THAT SHOW IS ON WE HAVE THIS CONVERSATION, AND IT APPEARS MY HUSBAND IS RIGHT. It also appears that he is a man very comfortable in his masculinity, and that’s pretty sexy. Ergo, my husband should be People’s Sexiest Man Alive, he really should be. What can I say, I have a thing for guys in suits who patiently watch The Sopranos with their mud-masque wearing, Snoopy pajama sporting, red wine drinking wives. But not tonight! Tonight I’m dressing up and going on the town – more about that in the next exciting installment of my adventures in the Boyhouse!

Nicole’s Favourite Things: Sears Wish Book Edition, Part 1

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Every year – generally, these days, in August – I receive my own hard copy of the Sears Wish Book and every year it brings me much joy and happiness. When I was a kid I would circle all the amazing things I wanted in the Wish Book in order to make my list for Santa; I was equally mesmerized by the extensive doll selection near the back and the “Gifts” section near the front. Flash forward a few decades and I’m still mesmerized by the “Gifts” section.

I actually really, really love the Sears catalogue – and not just the Wish Book, no – every year I order Sorel boots for the kids; they always have the sizes I need at good prices and I don’t have to drag the boys to every shoe store in the mall only to find they DON’T have any boots for boys except in size tiny and gigantic. I order flannel sheets from Sears and the very best pajamas in the world are from Sears:

 
SNOOPY!
 
Did you know there are only five weeks until Christmas?

Totally. And although I wanted to write this post back in August when I received the Sears Wish Book, I held off out of respect for you, dear reader. But I cannot hold out any longer. Here is Nicole’s Favourite Things: Sears Wish Book Edition, Part 1. Yes, dear reader, there will be more than one part. It’s a series! A series of Wish Book awesomeness. Let’s start with the “Gifts”, shall we?

Retro Gifts

I love these things. Didn’t we all have them when we were kids? I know I had that record player and the telephone. I clearly recall playing Clare de Lune over and over, and also having amazing pretend conversations on my chatter phone. However, I kind of think that if you’re looking to give these to your kids as gifts…well, let’s just say it might be more of a gift for yourself, you know? I’m not totally sure children would really love the chatter phone all that much, although, who knows? Maybe they like to pretend they’re living in the dark ages when we all had rotary phones. Actually I think my parents just got rid of their flesh coloured rotary phone recently. Not to mention my in-laws have my husband’s original TV radio and it still works; the kids used to listen to The Farmer in the Dell on it over and over when they were smaller. I’m not sure what I think of the $99 Coca Cola fridge. It seems a little bossy. Have a Coke – NOW. I don’t even like Coke. I haven’t had one in probably 30 years.

I don’t remember Hello Kitty being a thing when I was a kid. Everything on this page makes the practical side of me say this is landfill garbage; probably would break after one or two uses. The impractical, pink-deprived side of me says squeeeeee I need a Hello Kitty Cotton Candy Maker! Also, how cute is that dollhouse? Moving on.

 Dog Related Items


There is something amazing about a mug that says “I Like Big Mutts and I Cannot Lie”. Digression: if you had to have a theme song that would play every time you walked into a room – i.e., like Darth Vader – what would it be? Mine would be Baby Got Back. I think that would be epic.

Questionable Stocking Stuffers

Stocking stuffers for everyone on your list, says the caption, but I actually question this. Cake pop pans – MAYBE. But “Trendy Top” which is supposed to “Cover your waist, belly, and rear view” and then shows a picture of someone bending over and okay, there is probably a better way to tell someone that you can totally see their panties when they bend over and maybe they should cover up that belly, too, than putting such an item in their Christmas stocking. That said, I do think it’s a good idea, but maybe not for a gift? And do you see the white drill-like thing at the bottom? That’s an ear wax remover. Now, I just took Jake into the doctor to get his own severely impacted ear wax removed, and it was simultaneously revolting and fascinating, but I’m not sure that an Wax Vac Ear Cleaner would be well received as a present. Nor, maybe, an Expanding Hose and Hanger or a set of Sham-Wows. Or an Aaahh Bra, unless you knew that person very well and they requested it. I did buy one of those Hot Buns things from my hair salon, and it’s pretty cool, so maybe that would be a nice stocking stuffer.

Canadiana


A snowball maker and thrower, all in one! I haven’t really made snowballs in a long time but that seems fun, as does the Canada Beverage Survival Belt. I would totally buy one of those for my father-in-law; he would love it. The parrot corkscrew is kind of cute in a creepy-kitchy way.

File Under Hmmmm

For $29.99 a giant keyboard seems like a steal, although it’s lots smaller than the one from the FAO Schwartz in the movie Big. The tutu/ blanket set would be good although the sizing says “One Size Fits Most Girls”. That’s pretty gender specific, Sears. Hey, an Agent P clock radio! Say goodbye to your clock radio.

Probably Not

I have seen these hoodies on kids, and fine. Creepy, but fine. If I saw this on a grown man I’d dial 9-1- and then wait to be attacked. Sorry, grown men who are fans of skeleton hoodies that go over your face. These are not appropriate to wear while out and about unless you want people to profile you a certain unflattering way, the best case scenario being a guy who lives in his mom’s basement making youtube videos of his X-box cheat codes.

Nicolemania and Beatlemania

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This is where I spent the vast majority of my week:

Every year – twice a year – leading up to the book fair I feel deflated and exhausted and think this is IT. This is the LAST TIME I’m running the book fair. Then, after running the book fair, raising thousands of dollars for the school library, and feeling universal adulation and love from the student body, who call after me while I’m walking through the playground, like I’m Jennifer Lawrence and the students are the paparazzi, “Hey, it’s the book fair lady! Hiiiiii book fair lady! Hiiiii! I love my book about zombies/ Diary of a Wimpy Kid/ Pete the Cat/ Lego Friends.”, I feel like I can keep on keeping on. My friend’s son, who is in fifth grade, thanked me in a very formal and polite way for all my “time and efforts” to “make this book fair possible.”

So that’s nice. I feel good about that; much better than how I felt when I read over my emails last night. Remember the kazoos? The kazoo playing at the school’s 50th anniversary assembly? The kazoos are going to be played as part of a performance by my children of the song YELLOW SUBMARINE. I feel a great deal of despair about this for a number of reasons, one of which is I haaaaaaate that song with a passion. Also, kazoos. 

All this 50th anniversary festivity is – somehow? – connected with the advent of Beatlemania, which Mark’s teacher seems to be embracing with passion. He was assigned to write down five Beatles’ facts and five Beatles’ songs. I was trying to help him with these facts, keeping things empirical rather than subjective, but my husband was home, and the result was somewhat disastrous.

Me: They were known as the Mop Tops! Isn’t that funny? Their hair was considered to be crazy back then!

Mr: Paul sucks.

Me: That’s not appropriate.

Mr: Paul DOES suck. He still writes songs like he did fifty years ago. They suck.

Me: I liked him in Wings.

Mark: What’s Wings?

Me: Another band. Let’s keep going. The band broke up in 1970.

Mark: Why did they break up?

Mr: Because of a chick! She was nuts though.

Me: SERIOUSLY. Let’s keep on topic.

Mark: Who was the chick? Was she pretty?

Me: The WOMAN was Yoko Ono. She was John’s girlfriend. I guess she didn’t really like the other Beatles.

Mark: Some girls do NOT like their crushes to hang out with their friends.

Mr: Exactly.

Mark: *writing* They also went to India a lot.

Mr: They went to India and did a lot of drugs and went crazy.

Mark: I don’t think I should write that. *writes They went to India and got groovy.*

Me: *sigh* How about some songs? I like Golden Slumbers.

Mark: I’ll tell you one thing, I HATE Yellow Submarine.

Me and Mr: Good boy.

http://www.thecomicstrips.com/store/add.php?iid=100655
Image from thecomicstrips.com

  
My friend sent me this comic strip and YES. Although, we all know how I feel about Tom Petty. Or do you? My darling friend Stephanie tagged me on Facebook to play that game where you tell random things about yourself. She gave me the number 8, so I have eight things to tell you about! It seemed too long for a status update, and so I have crafted it seamlessly into a blog post. Also it’s Friday, I’ve been at the book fair all week, and although I haven’t cracked open the wine yet – it’s only 11:30 in the morning – I feel like I happily COULD. It’s been that kind of week. Without further ado, here is my list.

Eight Random Things About Nicole

1) I really, really can’t stand Tom Petty’s music. Do you see what I did there? I didn’t say “I hate Tom Petty” because my dad always said “You don’t HATE anybody” to which I would respond “How about Hitler, Dad? Can’t I hate Hitler? Dad? Hitler? I hate him! So I CAN hate somebody.” Yes, I was a delight of a child. Anyway, I don’t like to be super negative about a person – a celebrity is still a person, I say from my glowing book-fair-lady-celebrity – and so I will say I DO NOT ENJOY HIS MUSIC. For all I know, Tom Petty is the world’s nicest guy.

2) I do enjoy a wide variety of music. Eclectic, if you will. I love motown and fat caped glittery Elvis, I love disco and 1970’s ballads, I love hippie music from the 70s, I love catchy 80s tunes and “alternative” 80s music, which makes me nostalgic for my youth, I love old-skool rap from the 90s and hip-hop and reggae (I don’t like reggae. I love it.) I have an incredible memory for lyrics which makes me think that I could probably do a lot more with my life, if the space in my brain which knows the words to every song ever recorded was devoted to something, you know, useful.

3) I wear the colour black all the time. I almost always have something black on. This habit dates back to my youth, which I probably shouldn’t admit to.

4) Sometimes – not often, thankfully – I find myself having conversations that go like the SNL carpool sketch with Alec Baldwin and Kristin Wiig, which is my favourite sketch ever, but less fun in real life.

5) I always, without exception, choke up when singing the following songs: Landslide, Foolish Games, and How Great Thou Art.

6) I often put on my jammies by 7:00 pm on weekdays. This means that during the week my husband frequently sees me in one of two outfits: a) sweaty yoga clothes first thing in the morning, and b) plaid jammies with a picture of Snoopy on them. This is marriage, kids. As my young friend Emily says when she sees a particularly unflattering outfit, “Those are married lady pants.” I’M SURE HE FINDS ME EXTREMELY SEXY IN MY MARRIED LADY PANTS THAT HAVE SNOOPY ON THEM, EMILY.

7) Despite this, with the exception of 5 am yoga, I never leave the house without makeup on and my hair done. NEVER. I walk the dog with lipstick on, I fancy myself up to go to the Co-Op. I’m totally going to be one of those scary old ladies with bright orange hair, lipstick bleeding into my lip lines, clouds of Chanel No. 5, and super fancy matching earrings/ necklace/ bracelet sets, who get all gussied up to go down to the residents’ lounge to play canasta. Note: need to learn to play canasta sometime in the next forty years.

8) When I was in Grade 11, I was Amanda Wingfield in the school production of  The Glass Menagerie. I rocked out a Southern accent like nobody’s business. I feel that I was born in the wrong place. I think I would have made an excellent Southern lady. I secretly LOVE when people refer to me as “Ma’am”.

So now it’s your turn! Instead of tagging people on Facebook, I’m going to tag bloggers to tell random numbers of things about themselves. Who wants to start? I’ll give you…six!

Skinnygirl Drinks and Kazoo Amazingness

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It’s book fair this week, and due to all the lovely women I’ve coerced into volunteering to help me, I do not even feel my usual high level of despair/ regret/ tension that I usually get prior to the event. I’m having a teensy bit of volunteer fatigue lately, and really, I have no one to blame but myself. I’m sure it will all feel worth it when my children have a copy of the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid in their hot little hands; although I loathe those books in no small way, they love them, and isn’t reading for pleasure one of those things we should be encouraging? Even though the characters are revolting and the plot lines a depressing view of society? I guess I shouldn’t be so uppity; I clearly recall reading all the Sweet Valley High books when I was in fifth grade. If there is anything that will give a girl a skewed and unrealistic view of high school, I believe it is the adventures of the Sweet Valley High gang and the inevitable self-questioning: am I an Elizabeth or a Jessica?

Does anyone still have those books? I kind of want to re-read them now.

In addition to the book fair, there are lots of exciting things going on at the school right now. For one thing, in celebration of the school’s fiftieth anniversary, there is going to be a very special assembly at which my children are going to be playing kazoos. Just go ahead and let that sink in for a minute. Kazoos. I’m of mixed emotions about this: gratitude that it’s not a medley of recorder music, undeniable curiosity about the nature of this performance, pride that the children will be involved in such an important milestone, and kazoos. Kazoos! Kazoos.

We had dinner guests this weekend, and so in preparation for this event I dropped the boys off at karate on Thursday evening to run to the liquor store. Normally I sit in the waiting room, reading and making notes and sometimes being sternly reminded by the caretaker to turn out the lights when I leave. I sweetly, yet emphatically, assure him that I always DO turn out the lights, to which he suspiciously makes reference to SOMEONE who is always leaving the lights on. It’s not me! I swear! In any event, on Thursday I peeled out of the parking lot to get to the liquor store and back within the short time frame. I will confess that I was worried I would run into traffic issues and would arrive late to pick up the children, who would be standing in the windy, freezing parking lot in only their uniforms since they insist on leaving their coats in the car, holding their giant bo staffs and frozen water bottles, and my only excuse would be that I was at the liquor store. Happily this did not come to pass.

While at the liquor store, I discovered something called “Skinnygirl White Cranberry Cosmos”, a premixed beverage. On a whim I picked it up, and decided to try it the night before our guests arrived. You know, to make sure it was appropriate for guests. Two glasses in and I was moments away from drunk dialing all my girlfriends to tell them how much I love them. And then my husband came home from work. I’m not even kidding, all this drunkenness happened before my husband came home from work. “I was having a cocktail while I made dinner!” I giggled aloud. “Hee hee, cocktail.” 

All of which is to say, if you see such a bottle in the liquor store, buy it.    

I’ve never been in a drunken stupor, but…

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Here it is, Wednesday of time change week and not one complaint has passed my lips. Not one! My husband, in years past, has generally adopted the traditionally masculine attitude that my vehement feelings against the observation of Daylight Savings Time and the subsequent semi-annual fuck up amounts to Nicole Making A Big Deal Out Of Something Very Minor And Unimportant. Yesterday, however, he admitted he was feeling quite tired and out of sorts and maybe it was due to time change. At this admission, I feel vindicated.
 
My children have been just fine; I guess they’ve reached the age where an hour here or there is No Big Deal At All. However, I stand in solidarity with all you mothers out there who are dealing with hot crying messes every evening and wide awake little people at ungodly hours of the morning. I shall not rest until the country has caught up with Saskatchewan, which is miles and miles ahead of the rest of us for their refusal to adopt Daylight Savings Time and its abhorrent spring forward/ fall back rituals. Also, please feel free to give a verbal dressing down to the next person who says that DST is “for the farmers”. Bitch, please. Do you have any idea what time farmers get up in the morning? The actual clock has nothing to do with it, so shut up, goddammit. If I was that kind of person I’d allude to a conspiracy theory cooked up by people who want to keep mothers down by totally fucking up their children twice a year. But I’m not. Still: DOWN WITH TIME CHANGE.
 
Speaking of fucked up, how about that mayor of Toronto? Wowza, is that embarrassing. I mean, we’ve all done silly things under the influence of alcohol or excessive Girl Guide cookie consumption, but smoking crack? In a drunken stupor? Listen, we all know how I love my red wine, and my cosmopolitans, and my margaritas, but I don’t think I’ve ever been in a drunken stupor in my life. I don’t like hangovers and I don’t like falling over. The closest I’ve come to that, lately, is becoming extraordinarily drunk at the Banff Springs Hotel with my husband and two people we met at the bar while listening to a blues guitarist. The couple was from Boston, and so they and my husband immediately bonded over the Patriots. 
 
So no drunken stupors for me, but I’ve done plenty of silly things after consuming one too many glasses of wine/ cosmopolitans/ margaritas.
 
1) I completed this Cosmo quiz and realized that the answer is “yes”.
 
 
 
 
2) At Blissdom Canada, I lay down on the hotel hallway and put both legs behind my head to show Allison and Hannah that I totally could. I blame Allison for being such a doll and bringing the peach daquiri mix and rum.

 
3) I bought hot pink yoga pants online.
 
 

4) I once danced the macarena in a Mexican bar wearing Daisy Duke shorts, high heeled sandals, and a crop top.

5) One Friday night when my husband was golfing, I live-tweeted my viewing of Top Gun. “Permission to fire, sir!” “Never fire unless fired upon.” GREAT advice.

 
6) I have, on numerous occasions, accidentally flashed my cleavage.
 

7) I was not drunk while making this gingerbread house! But the result was so depressing I had to comfort myself with a bottle of wine.

 
8) I was also not drunk in this photo! But I was fairly high on painkillers following varicose vein surgery. I was also super excited to eat the pretty fruit kabobs my friends had sent over.
 
9) I illegally brought drinks in glass containers down to the pool in Maui – in the dark! – and forced my dear, sweet friend Joanne to do the same. Everyone give some love to Joanne – she was my accomplice in illegal activities. And yet I look so INNOCENT.
 
 
 
10) I got pregnant! Hey, it was Stampede week. And then six to eight months later, I walked around looking like this:
 

Say My Name!

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This weekend was a batten down the hatches, Pa, it’s a blizzard kind of weekend. We had tons of snow and since the winter tires are scheduled to be put on my van next weekend, I was pretty much trapped in the house. It had its upsides, of course, being that I pretty much spent all day Saturday cooking and washing dishes (hmmm…upside?) and all morning Sunday cleaning things, festively ordering holiday cards, doing online Christmas shopping, and creating calendars to give to the grandparents. I know that for a lot of people November is a very unpopular month, but I love it. It’s kind of cozy and has that nice pre-festive feeling to it.

To be honest, I’m glad that there was a ton of snow for another reason: death to all the moths. On Friday I was curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and a copy of Sense and Sensibility, when my husband brought the mail in. He picked up one of the magazines, and OUT FLEW A MOTH! I screamed and screamed, such that the dog scurried into his crate in terror and the boys came running upstairs to see who was ax-murdering their mother. The moth landed on a picture, and I screamed hysterically until my husband unceremoniously squished it. BRING ON THE SNOW, I SAY. I had to drink another three glasses of wine just to settle my nerves.

Fortunately the blizzard held off until after Halloween. I was pretty excited to have a very small Dalmatian darken my doorstep at 6:20, but mostly I just sat on the couch, bored, eating Rockets and staring at the dog. I had a grand total of seven trick-or-treaters, two of which gasped when I opened the door and exclaimed in awed tones It’s the book fair lady! I felt kind of Heisenberg-y. Say my name! You’re the book fair lady. You’re goddamn right.

But even with my book fair celebrity, we still had a ton of candy left over and the kids brought a ton of candy home, and so we are now a candy-full house. My sweet neighbour brought over some full sized chocolate bars and apologies for not being home; I forced Rockets on her. She tried to protest but I am indefatigable when it comes to forcing food on other people. I’m practicing for my future role as everyone’s benevolent grandmother. EAT, EAT. YOU ARE TOO SKINNY, EAT.

Speaking of grandmas, I made my grandma’s amazing, kind-of-like-crack gingersnaps this weekend. I only make them once a year, possibly because they are irresistable. They are a festive, wintry kind of cookie that I don’t seem to be able to bake during the summer. It’s not just the cookies and the snow that have got me feeling all Christmassy. I’m feeling especially festive since I am – wait for it – ALL DONE my Christmas shopping! I’m the goddamn book fair lady! Thanks to the miracle of online shopping plus a caffeine fueled 90 minutes at the mall this morning, I am FINISHED. My motivation for finishing early is the mall. Oh, how I loathe the mall during the holiday season. The thought of last minute shopping, or even December shopping, is enough to ruin my festive, happy feelings. The parking lot, for one thing, is the asphalt jungle of bitterness and resentment: sitting in traffic waiting for 20 minutes to turn into the parking lot, plus circling said parking lot just to find a spot, PLUS dealing with much rage and anger from other drivers all competing for the same spot. Not to mention the dry air of the mall which is chronically overheated from all the bad moods and outrage about long lineups. Shopping in November is just so much easier. While everyone else is stabbing each other over the last box of Godiva Holiday Truffles or the Hug Me Elmos (did you know Hug Me Elmo is a thing? Eeek.) I will be snuggled up on the couch with a big glass of wine, my copy of When Harry Met Sally, and a whole pile of endless Halloween candy.

Smell my feet!

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I do not know how this happened, but in addition to the box of 90 miniature Hershey’s bars that I purchased a few weeks ago, I somehow decided that this was a good idea:

Given that we average between five and ten trick-or-treaters a year, and, on a related note, since my kids are two of the very few that prowl our very unpopular street they are the recipients of massive neighbourly generosity, by tomorrow I predict that we will have approximately one thousand little candies in the house. I don’t know a) why I bought so much, or b) why I bought the one candy that I cannot leave alone – Rockets. Mmmm. Artificial dextrose-y goodness. They are also vegan. It should be part of their marketing slogan: vegan and gluten free! Really, the Rockets people should be calling me.

I was smart enough not to buy flats of chips, though. Those wouldn’t have even lasted the afternoon by the time I got through with them. Trick-or-treat! I’d answer the door, bloated, with chip crumbs all over my sweater.

And here it is, Halloween. I’m never on trick-or-treat duty, thankfully, so I can cozy up on the couch waiting for our five-to-ten visitors and calming the dog when said visitors ring the doorbell. My job will be done when I figure out how to get these costumes

over top of these coats.

And now you can see for yourself why I’m perfectly happy to curl up on the couch with a bag of Rockets. COLD. Also, kind of lazy.

I know it’s only Halloween, but my mind has gone straight from pumpkins to Christmas. Santa’s coming! In only 55 days! So of course my mind is on ordering Christmas cards and photo calendars to give as gifts, and my sister-in-law, god bless her, has sent me her children’s wish lists, complete with online shopping options. I love my sister-in-law. She gets me. A couple of glasses of wine, the laptop, and my shopping will be, by and large, done. Maybe I’ll even do my shopping tonight while waiting for little ghouls and goblins. Multitasking!

Speaking of multitasking, I spent yesterday afternoon at the hair salon, and while my colour was “processing”, as they say, I put 270 photos into an album. Apparently I’m the only person left on planet earth under the age of 70 who still prints photos and puts them in albums. Everyone is into photo books now, and that does seem like a more efficient solution, but what happens when I die and the kids want to give photos of their childhood to their respective offspring? Morbid, I know, but it is Halloween. Also, I like to send prints to various relatives and adhere them onto my refrigerator so I can look at some cuteness while I spend my endless days in the kitchen.

So it was a win all around; I have photos in album and I have nice hair now. A few days ago I was thinking I needed a wig, not because of Halloween, but because I truly loathed my hair. Here’s the before shot:

Those are my dad’s genetics, right there. Well, except for the forehead wrinkles, that seems to be my own special characteristic. Good thing my dad is so good about excavating dead mice from my house and being calm in the midst of my total hysteria, elsewise I might get cranky about being on a six-week colour cycle.

But here’s the after!

I gave my hair a little toss just to get that shampoo commercial feel. Although maybe I should have held off a couple of days AND bought fun packs of chips, just so I could scare small children at my door. THIS IS MY COSTUME, BAHAHAHAHA.