Halloween

Halloween is one of my favourite holidays.  I love the marriage between the macabre and fun.  It doesn’t seem a natural union, like marshmallows and peanut butter, but somehow it works.

I don’t think Halloween is wholly for children though.  Not because I think their little innocent minds can't handle the implied preternatural horrors of the night.  Most are less perturbed by gore, terror and malevolence than many adults.  No.  I just think adults have more fun with it. The costumes become feats of artistic frenzy, as originality strives to match technical ability; the abundant parties where being socially retarded is actually a bonus for once; the elaborate pumpkin carving beyond the prerequisite of the evil smiley face (which usually looks like the poor squash has had a stroke when a child's been let loose on it). All these factors contribute towards a night where you can indulge in your more alternative side and be a bit naughty.

This year however, I just can't be bothered with it. I'm not sure why.  Maybe it's because it's my last child-free Halloween, and I'm secretly resenting all the grown-up Samhein parties I'll no longer be invited to (not that my social calendar was ever particularly over-saturated with invites anyway).  More likely, it's because I'm not in the mood to haul my heavily pregnant bulk off the couch every fifteen minutes, just so I can pretend to be impressed by the paltry creativity of a parent who has draped a sheet over their kid in a last minute effort to secure a few squares of nougat.  That was a very long sentence.  I hope you took adequate breath before reading it.
 So, tonight I'm ignoring the doorbell, turning off all the lights and pretending to be deaf to calls of "we know you're in there" bellowed through the letterbox. In fact, I'm writing this sat in a dark cupboard with a tub of treat-size sweets (I'm sure they used to be called fun-size.  I guess the manufacturers realised it's a misnomer to call a smaller version of a chocolate bar 'fun').  Actually, that's not quite true.  I'm actually sat on the couch with an empty tub of sweets.

I’m looking forward to when Little Parasite is older and Husband and I can have some fun decorating the house with cobwebs, skeletons and ghouls for a blindfolded ghost hunt and serving bleeding heart cakes and rice crispy scabs.  And other activities that ensure Little Parasite requires a lifetime of therapy.

What’s your favourite holiday? What are your fondest (or darkest) memories of Halloween?

Clothes shopping

Clothes shopping is one of those activities that should be enjoyable, but typically leaves me feeling disheartened by the whole process.  Maybe I just over-complicate the whole experience with my usual mix of social angst and diffidence, but I suspect I'm probably just a fashion pariah.

I'm really good at the sorting out and throwing away part of assessing my wardrobe.  I have a ruthlessness that would rival Ghengis Khan on discovering someone had put plastic in his glass recycling bins.
So, once the wardrobe has been stripped of its contents, I am then faced with the prospect of refilling it with new attire. This poses several issues for me. Firstly, I have the fashion sense of a blind lugworm.  Secondly I am easily intimidated by clothing store staff, with their pristine hair, prettily made-up faces and perfectly manicured nails.  I tentatively make my way into these stores, keeping flush against the walls like a feral rat.  Catching the beautifully eyelined glare of the assistant, I lurch awkwardly toward the nearest clothes rail and grab the first couple of garments my hands land on.

And then comes the trauma of 'trying them on.'  After selecting a few items in two different sizes, I then queue outside the changing rooms.  Whilst waiting, I cast my eyes over the other customers' potential purchases, and compare them to my own choices.  I am instantly disappointed with my garments, and feel strangely shunned by Womenkind for my lack of fashion knowledge.

When I eventually make it to a changing cubicle, I'm immediately struck with the paranoid thought that the assistant thinks I'm stealing as I've brought my massive backpack in with me (in combination with my clothing this makes me look like a nomadic turtle).  I then spend an inordinate amount of time checking that the curtain is drawn completely, so no gaps or unwanted eyes can enter.  Once satisfied that I've created a temporary modesty bubble, I then don the new clothes.  Frustration (and a little depression) soon sets in when the size 8-10 is too small, but the 10-12 is too big for the exact same style, and the item I adored on the rail makes me look like a disfigured Bobo doll.
This pattern repeats over several stores, until I either find a shop that proffers clothes that actually fit my shape (I'm beginning to wonder if I have a weird body shape, like a tetrahedron or something, and that's why I find buying clothes so difficult) or I give up and buy the outfit that gives my physique Bobo doll qualities, and pretend it's a deliberate style statement (i.e. I have no sense of style).


Because of my abhorrence for clothes shopping (and the fact I'm growing another human in me that's rapidly turning my regular t-shirts into crop tops - the white trash look; the antithesis of haute coutre) I am currently in a sort of wardrobe Groundhog Day.  I have decided that once Little Parasite is born, and I get my figure as back to normal as it's going to (currently I actually do look surprisingly like a Bobo doll), I'll attempt to revamp my wardrobe more successfully.

Dregs of my sketchbook

I'm feeling a bit guilty about not adding any sketches lately.  My excuse has been that my graphics pen is still packed from our last move, and with moving on the horizon again I don't see the point in unpacking it.  This is a little lazy, since once I've dug it out of the moving box all I need to do is plug in the USB port.  Meh.  Still reeks of effort to me.  I will sort it out when we move (once we've unpacked.  And the baby's born.  And I've got used to no sleep... don't hold your breath).  In the meantime I've delved into one of my sketchbooks from last year and have uploaded a page of random sketches.  I think at the time I was trying to work on drawing people, since I suck at people-sketching.

Sketchbook page.

Yep, still suck at drawing people.  I try, dammit!