Nostalgic Moment #27

Wow! It's time for a little trip down memory lane. Have you missed these? I have. I get so caught up in the hubbub (never liked that word, but spelled backwards it becomes bubbuh which is cool) of promoting my writing. Sometimes I forget what's the most important part of this blog and that is to... um... to.... it's just... to blathe... uh what in the world am I talking about? Oh well.

Can you believe it's October already? And not just October but nearing the middle. Soon it will be Halloween, and then November 4th (which may have some significance somewhere in the world) and then there's that day when we magically change the time for another 6 or 7 months. Daylight Savings Time is sooooo weird, isn't it? That's time travel if you think about it or, even creepier, I wonder how many people thought they were abducted by aliens because they forgot to set their clocks to the correct time and ended up late for work because they had lost an hour. It would seem to me to be a reasonable excuse to say that perhaps I was abducted by aliens because I can't think of any other reason to why I lost an entire hour. Whew! I actually held my breath as I wrote that sentence and I type like ten words a minute. I might as well call myself David Blaine with all this street magic I'm performing right now for your reading pleasure.

Wouldn't it be awesome if there was a secret e-mail chain circulating out there in cyberspace where only cool people were members and randomly given instructions to change the time again and again. You could walk into work around noon and ask why's everyone was there so early. And that it was only 6 a.m. And then everyone would laugh and just have a jolly ole' time. Ah, October. What a month. I think I'll dress up this year for Halloween. I'm not going to expound on that thought at all either. I just wanted to throw it out there. I may be mistaken, but I believe I once dressed up as George Washington. Maybe it wasn't for Halloween, but I definitely donned a powedered wig.

Anyways... it's been a little time since my last rant and I needed to see if I could still do it. Yep, I can still do it.

Join me now my friends as I recall two of my fondest and weirdest Halloween memories.

#1 Whilst trick-or-treating in Kentucky, me and my friends ventured fairly far away from my home and the safety of my neighborhood. We were rolling in the candy and saw no reason to stop until our bags were on the verge of busting. It was about a mile or two down the road when we came upon a very nice home. Big homes usually equal big loot or in terms of Halloween booty (don't worry I'm using that word correctly) big homes equalled king-sized candy bars. As we approached the house one of my friends started shouting to get our attention. There was the sound of galloping on the wind and as we turned to see what all the bubbuh was about (that's hubbub spelled backwards for those joining us mid-post) the four of us spotted a donkey bolting up the road. Not a kid wearing a costume, but a real live donkey and he was distressed. I can't blame the poor animal. I'd be distressed too if I was out of my element, charging up the road and strange, masked children kept pelting me with wrapped pieces of candy. This donkey ran right passed us, juked to the left and ended up in the backyard of that really nice home we were on the verge of begging from. I quickly pounded on the door and when the owner (a nice lady with a brimming bowl of the goods) appeared, my friends and I immediately started shouting that there was a donkey in her backyard. She laughed. Oh, what silly children and their little tricks, she was probably thinking. Yet we persisted and eventually the woman grew annoyed. Let it alone you little twits she might've said had my memory served me better. To make a long story short (too late), the lady never believed us, we didn't score any king-sized candy bars because we had annoyed her so much and I'm pretty sure that donkey digested at least a dozen begonias. If that doesn't spell indigestion I don't what does. (b-e-g-o-n-i-a-s = d-i-g-... forget it!)

#2 I was still in Kentucky and yes, most of my weirdest and fondest memories throughout this blog occurred in Kentucky so it will always hold a special place in my Aortal pump (bonus points for who can name the show that used Aortal pump in a conversation.) It was the Fall Festival at Providence Elementary which is a glorious time for kids. I don't know what it is about little duck ponds or tossing bean bags at cans decorated to look like bats that just gets me so excited, but the Fall Festival always delivered memorable memories (that may or may not be called redundancy.) Do you remember the cake walks? The bubblegum blowing contests? Dropping cherry bombs into the toilets and causing floods? Okay that last one only happened to Bart Simpson. Of course, out of all the Fall Festival attractions, nothing was more important than the Haunted House. It was a masterpiece of horror. Ran by 16-year-old sixth graders, butchers and a handful of escaped convicts, the Haunted House did more for my childhood than any other single event. It's safe to say that he who entered the Haunted House and made it out without wetting themselves or sobbing like a baby entered manhood at the fall festival. Unfortunately, I've yet to reach that milestone because I will not go back....ever.

I remember the ritual small third and fourth graders underwent to prepare themselves for the Fall Festival's Haunted House. I don't want to bore you with all the juicy details, but it involved smacking yourself in the face over and over again until your cheeks were so numb you could lay on an open Popsicle without feeling the effects and when you held your breath you could hear the distant rumble of the sea crashing against the beach in your ears. I don't know why we did it to ourselves. No, that's not true. I know why we did it. If we didn't attempt to brave the Haunted House at least once a year we would be forever remembered as sissies.

Is this even considered a memory? I've rambled on for quite some time and I don't think I have a goal in mind. The problem is, I've written so much and it would destroy me to delete any of this. All right, all right all ready! Is everyone in that much of a hurry to be done with this post that they can no longer tolerate me barfing tangents? Fine. If you insist!

I think I was in the third grade. What a year that was. Peeing my pants and the Haunted House. Scarring to say the least. This year, I was ready for the haunted house. I had convinced myself that it was only kids or people dressed up in silly masks, I had snuck down at least two or three times and watched horror movies to gear up for the event. If anyone was going to survive the haunted house this year it was going to be me. I don't even remember who it was I went with. The first obstacle was an older woman dressed like the witch off of The Wizard of Oz. That was easy. I'm pretty sure the real witch melted, so there's no way this impostor was legit. I made it through the torture chambers where they threw blood and stuff all over you. It was all right to throw up afterwords so I wasn't concerned. You just weren't allowed to pee or cry. Okay, okay, I was doing good. In fact, I remember thinking that the haunted house was rather lame. These kids were unprofessional. None of there screaming had any effect and their timing was all off. They kept jumping out either a minute too soon or too late. I was going to do it! I was going to survive the Haunted House! What would it be like to be a man at age 8? And then someone popped out wearing a Michael Meyers mask. No, no, I'm not talking about the dude that plays Shrek, I'm talking about the king of horror! Michael Meyers from the Halloween movies. I bit my lip, I screamed like a girl and then I hauled off and decked the dude right in the face. I'm normally more controlled than that, but I'm sorry, they should've warned me that Mr. Meyers might be making an appearance. I had to be carried out and yes I committed one of the two big no-nos. I failed miserably. I was so depressed. I did find some joy in learning that my sister had done the exact same thing in the haunted house a couple years earlier and also, I think you'll be interested to know that my brother carried on the tradition by decking someone in a mask a few years later. Yes, all of the Cole children went down swinging in the haunted house. We never achieved our goals, but we definitely drew blood. That may be the Cole motto. It's either that or Kwamie Mamie Mon Suey Ooie. Which is legendary.