crushedcorn

Despite my reputation for being a wuss when it comes to the creepy crawlies, the spooks and spirits, and the ghouls and goblins, I do love me some Halloween. And while I can endure my fair share of horror films (not without post-viewing trauma, however), I prefer the lighter side of the holiday like dressing up and orange cream Oreos. That’s where Freakfest comes in.

Madison has been notorious for having a violent, destructive, and otherwise lewd Halloween celebration before the installation of Freakfest last year (or the year before?), which requires a ticket and is patrolled by numerous good humored, sometimes mounted, police. It was a mellow yet amusing stroll down State Street with a soundtrack provided by Lifehouse on the big stage. I’m not a big Lifehouse fan, but it was flattering that such a big name was there for our little party.

I’ll post some pictures, but I seem to be having a little bit of trouble with that right now. We ended up recycling our SNL cheerleader outfits, and they were an unexpected hit. Lucky we had a cheer all rehearsed so as not to disappoint or get annoyed with people asking us to do the perfect cheer, and us, all dressed up, with no cheer to share (hello, 3 years ago). But please, do not ask me to reiterate that cheer again. Some things are only good for the day, you know?

If you’ve ever seen “Mean Girls,” you’re familiar with the phrase “word vomit.” Not a pretty phrase, to be sure, but a very graphic and accurately descriptive one. Now, I wasn’t feeling sick today but there were a few times today that I had to swallow back the sour tricklings of inappropriate conversation and frustrated ire. It always hits me at lunch time while ringing through the line of hurried diners. But you’ve heard this all before. I wasn’t going to start swearing at anyone or anything like that, but sometimes you feel like throwing change and grasping the card scanner to your chest to protect it from the spankings of 3″ thick wallets, you know? No wonder your lunch card isn’t getting read…(I’m not an angry person, I swear)

A while ago I promised you pictures, and here a few photos of a picnic outing Z and I took at, where else, Picnic Point.

I was really trying to take a picture of Blue fetching sticks in Lake Mendota(), but I have terribly artistic aim. Heh.

Ok, scratch the photoS. I really only have that one worthwhile photo. I really am trying to get better at documenting my life in pictures, but I’m taking it one little picture at a time. The leaves are changing up here, though, so there should be plenty of opportune times to snap a little something and tell you all about it. If you’re really jonesing for more ocular enjoyment, maybe I can humor you at another time.

Does the quest for a career ever end? And I’m talking about a career here, not just a job or something to get you by until you do what you really want to do or something that you casually describe as a little thing “that pays the bills.” I mean a career. Do you have one? How did you get in to it? How did you know that that was what you wanted to or was meant to do?

Obviously, I’m struggling a little with defining this word in my own terms. I thought I had finally figured it out, but after an innocent conversation with a current RD the wheels have started turning again and I’m searching desperately for something to make them stop. Through all this, however, I’ve discovered that the love for writing that I had so sloppily dumped may soon be on the rebound. I’m envisioning a nutritional newsletter brought to you by yours truly. Something open to the public, but written intelligently and for those well versed and stumbling in the science of nutrition. Would people be interested in that? Would you be? I’m not sure if I am but it’s something to think about…

The only jobs that sound appealing are the ones that involve me being my own boss. No working under someone’s lacking leadership, no mindless hours of sorting lettuce, and most importantly, no feeling pointless and unfulfilled at the end of the day. What person would do that to themselves if they were in charge. No one I tell you, no one. Here are the professions I’ve considered: owning my own yarn store (there are no specialty yarn stores on the entire east side of Madison. Inconceivable!  I like this one a lot), baker, chef, RN, RD and chef, and countless things too embarrassing to mention.

I really shouldn’t be telling you all this, but I can’t help myself. Catharsis always makes me feel better about things, as much as I’ll end up eating or taking my words back in the end.  I have to get things off of my chest, no matter how untimely.  Not the best characteristic, but one that I posses nonetheless.

 I hate having things undecided, and having such a huge decision unmade is tearing me up.  It’s not one that can be rushed, but it’s one that I feel should have been made a long time ago.  It’s also one that I feel I’ve made several times, each time telling myself that this time I’ve figured it out.   That remains to be seen.