I’m Back and My Kid Got Shitty Halloween Candy

Well, hello there! I’m back. And if you’re reading this then so are you and that makes my bitter heart just soar through the heavens or whatever. It’s been a busy year for the Dear !@#%# Family, but I won’t lie, I wasn’t here much because I didn’t have the energy, had nothing to say, or most often just couldn’t be asked to give a shit. I wanted to, believe me, but it seemed to be so much of a struggle to muster up the strength to write and be witty.

For a quick update: Little A is 4, Mini B is 15 months, our dear Pit Bull Baxter died, We got a dumb Pibble puppy named Abe in his place, and our cat currently has fleas because he’s a jerk.

Now on to the sweet stuff.

Or not so sweet stuff as it would have it.exhibit1

We live in a pretty great neighborhood. Friendly families, lots of kids, quiet streets. However, neighbors seem to get pretty shifty when it comes to haunted candy. Pretty sure we were one of the few houses last year that actually handed out chocolate. You know, the GOOD SHIT. Kid’s bag was filled with stale gum and Jolly Ranchers and that shitty peanut butter taffy that no one eats.

So this year, I bought the good stuff again, kept out a sizable amount for myself so I wouldn’t have to eat the kid’s crummy haul, got the kids dressed, and out we went. Turns out, the neighbors stepped up their game and there was a fair amount of edible treats. There were, however, some true crimes against Halloween. We totes got TRICKED.

Exhibit A
Christmas Candy. Christmas candy that, based on looking up candy expiration codes that I decoded thinks to random candy blogs, had expired in 2009. TWO THOUSAND FUCKING NINE. Thanks for almost giving my kid the plague, asshat.

Exhibit B
More expired Christmas candy that was discovered after the first batch was thrown out. Kid chose to eat his Golden Oreos. As I cursed under my breath because I was going to eat those when he wasn’t looking, I happened to see the date. Aaaaaand those $^%$#! expired December of LAST YEAR. This is just getting rude.

Exhibit Cexhibit2
Apparently an elderly household (I mean, I can only assume it’s elderly because no other reasoning makes sense) thinks the little hooligans in the neighborhood need to be more regular and handed out Fiber One brownies. ARE YOU $%@# SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW?!

Exhibit D
This is more a rant on the candy industry than the neighbors, but the neighbors still bought and handed them out, so screw them both. Chocolate bars shrinking was horrific enough, but what in Sam Hill is this abomination?! I don’t even like Tootsie Pops and this offends me to the core. Shown in photo: Regular sized Tootsie Pop and the new teeny weeny sized one that would take way less than three licks to get to the center.

Bonus WTF
HOW CAN SOMETHING BE SMOOTH AND CRUNCHY?! THAT CAN’T BE A THING. I’m still going to eat it. For science.

Thanks for coming back! I hope I can once again live up to my not-even-that-high “funny” standards.

Did you find any weird/crazy/atrocious Halloween candy when you were taking your parental candy tax?

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Photo Friday: Monkeys and Tattoos. And a Mullet.

I just can’t bring myself to call it Foto Friday. It hurts my proofreading heart. Also, sorry Facebook friends, you’ve seen all these already.

I present to you Little A’s two Halloween costumes. It was almost three because the monkey was an impulse buy almost two months ago and they had the cutest giraffe costume at Costco last week that was thisclose to being irresistible. But what the shit would I do with three costumes? I might buy it if they still have it today. It’ll be warm for the road trips to the wintery, blustery Midwest. AND ADORABLE. And I want to dress him up like a giraffe.

And before you become alarmed and clutch your pearls, the tattoo was washed off less than 24 hours later. I clearly wouldn’t burden the kid with a tattoo. At least not one quite this cliche.

We went to a Halloween party last weekend as Bikers. HARDCORE. Also, easy. Thank you, random discovery of studded pleather in the Wal-Mart fabric aisle. Also, there’s totally a half of a toilet paper tube up in that hair. We had intended to attach a skull bandanna to one of Little A’s hats but we forgot. Alas, the “Road Warrior” hoodie sufficed. Not pictured is Big A, who dressed as a biker as well. A Bicycle Biker. Complete with butt pads, spandex and helmet.

What we really needed for this party was randomly sent to us by my brother, but sadly it arrived four days too late. I had no idea what was coming. He sent Little A a mullet wig. A BABY MULLET WIG. It would have been perfect with the biker shtick.  Not to mention the fact I have been obsessed with mullets for like ten years. In college outside my sorority room door I had a collection of mullet photos taken around town – my “Mulletin Board”. THAT PHRASE IS TRADEMARKED DON’T #%@!% STEAL IT. He would have totally made the board.

So next year, whether he likes it or not, Little A will be dressed as something requiring a mullet. Maybe for his first birthday. Hell, all future trips to Wal-Mart may require the mullet.

For the actual celebration of Halloween, Little A was a cuddly monkey. We bought the costume because it was cheap and cute and who wouldn’t want to see this goon dress up like a monkey. CHUNKY MONKEY ALERT.

He fell asleep in it. I would say candy coma, but that was what happened to me.

Side note as we enter November: A lovely post was written over at Excitement on the Side yesterday, detailing all the things she could do this month. And she made me think. I could be thankful for something every day, but I think my pessimistic attitude would tire of that quickly. And a writing a blog post every day would be awesome and would hold me to writing, but the kid still isn’t doing that much and I don’t leave the house so I’d end up detailing the way my carpet is wearing in high traffic areas and the contents of my freezer. Yikes.

So I will leave those things to her and other more experienced bloggers who have more to say. Maybe next year.

Although I am 100% thankful that we made it through Hurricane Sandy unscathed, dry and warm. Big A is never allowed to leave again.

Halloween. Tricks. Treats.

Dear $#^! Baby.

On Halloween, I peed on a stick to see if you existed. I had known for about seven days that you were probably all up in there, but I guess we had to be sure. I didn’t want to end up on “I Knew I Was Pregnant But Didn’t Do Anything About It” (coming soon to TLC). I had Jimmy Johns for lunch and a half shot of bourbon in the three-minute pee stick developing time in preparation, since you would be taking these precious things away from me. Probably not the most responsible decision…but it sure was delicious.

I couldn’t bear to look at the results because I’m preeeety sure that second pink line appeared immediately. I don’t know for sure because I high-tailed it out of the bathroom. But Big A dared to seek the truth. It pretty much went like this.

Bug-eyed and ready to vomit with this new sense of holy-shit-I-have-to-be-an-adult, I sat on the floor.  Big A pranced around the room and I kept yelling at him.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE.

THE WORLD DOESN’T NEED A MINI US.

OH SHIT THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING.

THIS IS THE WORST TRICK EVER.

(Big A’s response to that was obviously THIS IS THE BEST TREAT EVER!)

For whatever reason, we had a bottle of Sparkling Cider. So we drank it in celebration. Big A kept trying to rub my belly. I kept trying to punch him in the face.

I PEED ON THAT.

Welcome to the family, Kid. Hope you’re more prepared than we are.