My Parachute is Pumpkin-Colored

This fall I have found a new passion: pumpkin art. You'd think I would have figured this out earlier in life, with all the years of picking, scooping and carving behind me in P-town. But no, we always made those lame-o jack-o's, the ones with triangle eyes and simple smiles. On occasion, we'd get super fancy and add some teeth, or maybe I'd mix it up with a star-shaped lid instead of the basic circle or square, but this year, I put all former, geometrically-featured pumpkins to shame with my AMAZING spooky tree carving.

My obsession began when Brandon and I purchased one of those carving kits with all the tools (like mini jig saws) and intricate stencil patterns. We chose this particular kit for the spooky tree pattern for me and a rad skull face for Brandon.

When we opened the packet we saw that each design had a difficulty rating, ranging from one pumpkin (easy/beginner) to the mac-daddy five pumpkin expert level. Of course, my spooky tree was rated a five. I am an overachiever.

Thinking this would be pretty much impossible to pull off (recalling all my past experience with triangle eyes and circle noses), I didn't hold out much hope. I started with the stencil, but then decided to just freehand the thing, and to my amazement, it turned out great! Brandon's skull was pretty sweet too. Who would've thought?!

Soon thoughts of starting a pumpkin-carving enterprise flooded my mind - maybe I could make some under the table deals (not cool for my "job," which forbids other forms of income), selling fancy jack-o-lanterns to people too lazy or busy to make their own. Instant stoop art! I was going to be rich!

Later that night we placed our pumpkins happily on the front steps, arranging them amidst assorted gourds and feeling quite proud.

We walked across the street to visit our neighbor for some rum and cider - so appropriate for the day - and had a great time watching our tree and skull glow cheerfully from her front porch. It was a wonderful fall evening.

Now I Bore You With Stories of My Cat

The creature that shares my home is violent - violent beyond normal cat-violence, I believe.

Stella lunges at me (from underneath ottomans, couch, duvet or chair leg) with such speed and ferocity that my heart skips several beats and I have to sit down and rest for a minute or two. Her pupils dilate as her claws come out and sink into the naked flesh of my calves. I hear that lying in wait under furniture and pouncing is typical, at least for the first couple years of feline life, but the uncommon part about this is that it is no hit-and-run attack; Stella digs her fangs into my legs and refuses to let go.

On Monday, I suffered my worst wound to date:

While climbing the stairs, Stella lunged from behind a loaf of bread on top of the refrigerator. With incisors deep inside the tissue of my left leg and a basket of laundry filling my arms, I used my right foot to try to push her off me. Instead, she digs in harder, and when I push her downward, she just drags her claws down my leg, leaving a wonderfully Halloween-appropriate tearing wound. Imagine the kind that you'd glue to your forehead as part of a Frankenstein costume. Who needs a trip to Halloween USA when I've got "lifelike wounds by Stella" being created in my very own home!

I should also mention that her aggression has manifested in other ways, most notably angry urination. (It appears she's reverting to her most infantile methods of upsetting me).
On Sunday, as Brandon cleaned the litter, I looked over to see Stella "snuggling" in the lid of the box - (we have one of the enclosed types with the filter in the top). How cute, I thought.
Soon, though, I noticed a puddle forming in the bottom of the box - when we lifted it up, there was a pond on the floor. She had pissed in the filter! In the filter!

We thought this behavior had subsided when we gave her the beanie baby (named "Sizzle" by the Ty Corporation) - a flame red fuzzy teddy bear, all velor with a red bow around its neck. For a month or more, Sizzle occupied all of Stella's crazy energy and indeed was a blessed portal for all her evil. But somehow Sizzle's spell has worn off and my bare legs are once again her game.

"Attention Kroger Shoppers: There's an Idiot in Aisle Ten, an Idiot in Aisle Ten."

A snippet from our last trip to the grocery:

B. and I stand in line behind two other carts - a man in his early seventies (wearing all khaki, looking very retired with house shoes and driving cap) is directly in front of us, and a smart looking woman (blond bob, business attire) is in front of him.

When the line lulls a bit, although B. and I don't even notice the pause, the man turns to Brandon - since he's so macho looking and all - and comments, "It's not me holding up the line. Must be a female thing."

Brandon, not interested in this strange effort at male bonding, continues to flip through the TV Guide and pick out which Kit Kat he wants. When the woman returns from checking a price, the line moves forward and she goes on her way.

The man, now at the register, waits as good old Corey the clerk scans his netted bag of oranges. A frown grows on Corey's brow. Turning first to the man and then to the bagger he asks, "Do you know how much these cost?" Shrugs and blank looks all around, so the bagger shuffles off to check the sticker in the produce section.

The man now avoids eye contact with us, shifting his weight awkwardly on the spot.

We can't contain our snickering, and although I try to control myself, I'm all, "A female thing? A female thing?! Who's female now!?" at the man and Brandon attempts to hide my glee by plastering the TV Guide over my face.