Trouble In Suburbia: A Halloween Nightmare!

This year our HOA and neighborhood residents have been burdened with the possibility of rain and thunderstorms on Halloween night. 

Yesterday morning the neighborhood Facebook page was already in a full-on tale spin. 

After one neighbor posted that she had consulted with the mayor about whether or not to postpone Trick-or-Treating until Friday another neighbor responded, “I don’t thing the government has any business deciding when we do, or do not Trick-or-Treat.” 

Rest assured this provided endless entertainment for me because it went on ALL DAY.

Last night, I was delirious enough to throw yet another opinion into the melee. 

What’s a real Facebook fight until someone brings up the Ten Commandments, anyway?
Tonight’s forecast is calling for 100% chance or rain and a 75% chance of my house being egged.


A Halloween Update And Who REALLY Fathered My Son?

Well, just as it has happened the last four years, my son’s Halloween costume choice has disappointed me, yet again. I was all sunshine and rainbows over his initial desire to be Steve Harvey for Halloween this year. I won’t lie to you. I had even been doing some mustache window shopping. Mr. Harvey has a very distinct mustache and I wanted it to be perfect. 

However, it seems George Lucas has won over yet another young, impressionable five-year-old mind leading Luke to choose to trick-or-treat as Darth Vader… excuse me, Lord Vader. I’ve been corrected several times. 

This isn’t my only disappointment of the week. Thanks to Mia Farrow and her announcement that Frank Sinatra “may have” fathered her son, I am forced yet again to fret over the possibility that Brantley isn’t Luke’s real father. You heard me right. I can’t rule out the possibility that he could have been fathered by Ron Howard, or Prince Harry, or that guy Rocky from Mask. (Cue the Cher music.) We know that red hair came from somewhere. 

Thank you, Mia. Thank you a lot. 

Now I’ll spend the rest of the month dreading the possibility that one of these gentleman will show up at our door and look into the eyes of Lord Vader as they tell him, “Luke, I am your father.” Oh the irony.

Sure he’ll be upset for a little while, but I will hug and console him as I whisper in his ear, “This would’ve NEVER happened if you had dressed up as Steve Harvey.”

You Were Unable To See Yesterday’s Video? Shut Your Mouth! Plus, A Bonus Halloween Announcement!

From what I understand, my lovely blogger platform tends to give grief to people using mobile devices to view my videos. 

In case you missed it, here is the Youtube link to “A Family Feud Turns Into A Family Feud,” starring Luke and myself. I’d like to think Steve Harvey would be proud. 

In the future should you have the same problem, you can always click on the title of the post which will redirect you to my actual site and view it there. 

*In other news, Luke has chosen his Halloween costume for this year and it’s, you guessed it, Steve Harvey!! I thought putting his Magnum PI costume together for his first Halloween was difficult. This will require some delicate planning on my part- delicate indeed.



  • While talking about the seasons, specifically fall, I asked Luke what his favorite part of fall was. Always thinking outside the box he answered, “All the talking alligators.” 
  • Last night Brantley took Luke trick-or-treating while I stayed home and gave out candy. Brantley returned home about an hour later with a crying, exhausted and hyperglycemic little boy. I snuggled up with Luke in an effort to calm him down and allow his pancreas time to do its job. I asked him to tell me all about trick-or-treating.  (Please read the following sentence with a lisp.) “Well, someone messed up my candy order and I said, ‘Uh-scuse me sir, but I’m uh-wergic to nuts, but it’s ok because my Mom wuuuuuvs nuts.”

I’m Baaaack, And You Thought You Were Safe…

I’m writing to you from the naughty mat. A good blogger wouldn’t have gone a full week without so much as a Luke-ism, but I have a good excuse. I’ve been busy. Last Monday was Halloween, and I had to function as a single parent. My son refused to wear his costume, and when he found one suitable he wouldn’t leave our yard. Instead, he helped me give out candy after he greeted everyone with, “Happy birthday! Welcome to my shed.”

Last minute tiger costume.

Baxter was a turtle.
Thankfully, I saw NO skanky girl costumes this year! Way to hang, Nolensville. I did, however, have to issue a candy penalty to a teenager in black face. After telling him that his costume was racist, I handed him a pack of raisins, and told him to get off my porch. Brantley was so sure we would be egged, but so far so good.  At eight o’clock I gave all of our remaining candy to a vampire, and we headed inside for bath time, and to pack my suitcase.

The next morning I was dropped off at the airport by Brantley and Luke. There was some turbulence during the flight bad enough to cause an overhead bin to open and its contents fall out. For just a moment I regretted having flown on plane that only charged $59. “Where exactly are they cutting corners,” I wondered. Luckily, team Xanax was pulling for me, and soon after we landed in Jacksonville. 

I had a brand new niece waiting to meet me in St. Augustine. This is the part where my blogging took a backseat. There was much-needed family time to catch up on, and I reveled in it. I did too many things to mention, some of which included:
  • Snuggled my nieces.
  • Caught up with my sister-in-law regarding too many things to mention.
  • Quality time with eldest niece (almost 14) discussing all things Bieber and Kardashian, and playing hair. There was bonding over dry shampoo.
  • Got to hear my eldest niece drop the first ever F-bomb in front of her Mom. (Hilarious. With all of the gasping of air, I’m surprised the baby didn’t turn blue from oxygen deprivation. I later got in trouble (ME!) for having consoled eldest niece with, “Don’t get upset. If you get in big trouble, just tell me. I’ll buy you anything, just don’t be sad.”)


So that’s what I’ve been up to. Told you I had a good excuse…

Halloween: a Summary

Halloween had a little less magic this year than in years past. Thanks to recent events from Yemen, I found it somewhat inappropriate to dress Luke in his Unibomber costume. So, we had to resort back to the cow costume he didn’t want to wear. It took both Brantley and I to wrestle him into the costume and get it zipped up. All that fun wouldn’t have been complete without a marital spat, which ended in me shouting at Brantley, “He’s the two year old so why are you acting like a big fat baby?” Not my finest moment, but we made it through and after a few houses Luke got the hang of saying, “Trick or treat.”

We made it back to the house in time to give out candy and experience my favorite part of Halloween, passing judgement on everyone’s costumes. There was the expected super heroes, vampires and zombies, with splashes of originality and cute kids. Then came the preteen girls dressed like jail bait. Did their Dad’s not notice their costumes before they walked out the door? I saw fit to punish them with a candy penalty. They would receive only one piece per vixen.

Next, came the boys, or should I say, young men who appeared far too tall to be trick or treating. One of these gentleman approached with a familiar mask made popular in the movie Scream. By his size I guessed him to be about fourteen. He eyed the bowl and asked for a specific item, a trait I detest and for which I usually give a candy penalty. However, this kid was big enough to beat the crap out of me so I allowed it. “Do you think I could have one more for my wife?” he asked. “She loves those.”

“What did you just say? Did you say wife?” I asked
I could feel a smile coming from under that mask as he pointed to his wedding band. “Get off my porch,” I stated simply to the grown man clutching a pillow case full of candy, and he did. Loser.

About that time, anorexic runner lady ran by for her fourth sprint of the day. She’s the poster child for the female athlete triad and her body hasn’t seen a period in years. Of course she couldn’t be home giving out candy like everyone else. That would be unhealthy. So, instead she runs the neighborhood on a dark night with the highest traffic of the year. Hey Miss, getting hit by a car isn’t good for you, either.

Up walked another individual who was too big to be trick or treating. I say individual becuase I was unsure of their gender, but he/she weighed in at a good deuce and a half with what appeared to be a black DD bra on the outside of his/her clothes. That was the costume, normal street clothes with a bra on the outside. He/she definitely filled out the bra, which lead me to think female, but the rest of the picture just didn’t fit. Of course it really didn’t matter other than requiring me to change my standard question, “What are you supposed to be, little girl?” Instead, I changed it to, “Hey, look at you there.”
The night drew on and the candy eventually dwindled with two little boys finishing me off. “I like peanut butter cups,” one of them told me. “Sorry, I don’t have anymore of those,” I said politely, while secretly wishing him a candy penalty for being so forward. “But, I see some behind your back,” said annoying little boy. “Mind your business,” I told him. I wasn’t about to give up all of my candy after all the hard work I had done that evening. I sent them on their way, blew out the jack-o-lantern, and turned off the lights.

At last, Halloween had drawn to a close. Time to go Christmas shopping. Ugh!

Happy Whorelloween

I ventured out today in search of a Halloween costume. I went to Target, Wal-Mart and Halloween Express, and the choices were plentiful, assuming my goal was to contract genital herpes.

Tell me why. Why on earth do all of the ladies costumes have to be so seductive looking? I could’ve chosen between sexy pirate, sexy doctor, sexy nurse, sexy vampire, sexy zombie, sexy slut, or harlot. There was even a sexy candy corn costume…riddle me that.

Are all costume designers horny men? Do they want me to resort, yet again, to an extra large boys’ costume? Don’t make me be a Power Ranger again this year.