So Halloween’s around the corner yet again. And in fine Talea tradition, I’m not doing anything for it. I mean sure, I’ll take the free candy sitting on reception desks worldwide and I’ll fondle a few pumpkins for good measure, but other than seeing a scary movie tonight (Saw IV…..SO excited, I know the director, yo, that makes me way cooler than you) that’s about the extent of it.
I stopped dressing up after Grade 8. It just wasn’t worth it, plus, nobody likes those pimply teenagers that come banging on the door like smart asses at 10 at night. So I closed up shop and that’s been that. No costumes, no nothing. Personally, if I want to dress like a slutty whore, I’m not going to be doing it on Oct 31. That’s way too cold. I’m going to be slutty in the summer. I’m smart like that.
But back in the day when I did partake in this totally useless tradition, there was no slutty dressing. Oh no. See, I grew up in Saskatchewan. Also known as, the coldest fucking place on earth. Seriously. I have no memory of a single Halloween where there wasn’t already snow and ice and snowbanks built up by the time it came to pound the pavement. Every costume I had had to be homemade, so that my industrial level snowsuit, toque and mittens on strings could fit comfortably underneath. Our faces weren’t painted with fake blood and stuff, cuz they were covered completely by scarves.
We’d bundle up and waddle on down the street. Some years it was so cold that you wouldn’t really see other kids out. They were pansies and too scared of frostbite. Suckers. This just meant that we got tons of candy, cuz people were trying to get rid of it.
One year I was a giant yellow crayon. It was sweet. Another, I was a giant purple unicorn, also sweet. For two years in a row, I was Pippi Longstocking. With long, straight hair this was a genius idea. My mom disassembled a coat hanger, mashed it into the shape of my head and then braided my hair around it. Let me tell you how fun it is to have metal on your head at -20. However, my freezing skull was rewarded by the boatloads of candy I was given those nights. I was dragged into peoples houses, made to pose for pictures, phones were handed to me to verify that I did indeed have braids sticking out of my head, and then I was rewarded heartily for my efforts. It was pretty sweet.
In cold, cold Saskatchewan, we always had to plan our routes so that every 20-30 minutes we could hit the home base to thaw out and have a cup of hot chocolate. It was tricky, but we managed, since we knew death by hypothermia was our only other option.
Then came the dreaded candy search. Where you had to dump your goods on the floor, careful not to let any mix with your brothers, cuz then he might steal a sucker or something and you’d have to beat him and consequently get yourself grounded, so that the parents could inspect your treasures. By parents, I mean my mom. My dad was long gone by that point, huddled in front of the warm glow of the TV and it’s sporty offerings. And my mom would ALWAYS steal chocolate from us. I hated it so much. She claimed that she was ‘owed’ it or something for ‘making our costumes’ and ‘giving us life’. Pfffft. Chocolate crazed bitch, I say. Everyone knows the chocolate bars are the whole reason you go out all bundled up and brave the elements, stare down the fat kid going up the same driveway as you and sing stupid fucking songs so that people will give you candy. You put up with all those horrid ‘Rocket’ candies and those nasty hard-as-rock dark brown toffee things in those orange and black wrappers JUST to get the CHOCOLATE. And then she took it.
Maybe that’s why I don’t really see the fun in Halloween. Cuz it wasn’t fun. It just wasn’t. It was cold and uncomfortable and angering and full of bad candies. And my mom. Damn, no wonder eh?
The one thing I do love love love about Halloween is the carved pumpkins. I love them. I loved carving them, I loved scooping out the muck, I loved lighting the candle, I loved the smell. I love it.
I didn’t love the stupid kids who inevitably led to my pumpkin’s violent death on the street in the middle of the night, but hey, quick and painless versus rotting in a compost? I’ll go for quick and painless, methinks.
Yes, I’m aware this post sucked. You have no idea how exhausted I am this week. It’s stupid. My brain lacks all organizational abilities right now, but I felt I had to post something or I’d fall out of the nice little blog circle I’ve managed to worm my way into. Please leave the criticisms and personal attacks to a minimum in the comments section. Thank you.