Ghost in the machine.

My normal Halloween blogging glee has been curbed by the evil spirits that have taken over my computer. The pictures I wanted to blog about are on the computer and the computer is possessed. Oh well. I never take down Christmas before January 7, so maybe I'll have an extended Halloween season this year on the ol' blog. It's not like you guys start thawing your Thanksgiving turkey and dreaming of stuffing on November 1, or anything. (DO you?) If my dear bro is able to exorcise my computer in the next few days you will soon read harrowing tales of mackerel pudding; Uncle Wiggly; fearsome daisies that grow out of graves; and Domo, my ferocious Japanese pocket-monster.

However, even from this alien computer I can tell you a little Halloween tale o' horror, in honor of my brother (who as we speak is attempting to cast Legion out of my laptop).













Once upon a time, there was a lovely little sausage called Baldrick. He was made from bits of mysterious and sinister things, but people ate him anyway. And then they died.

The end.

They call me a cradle robber, but he clearly wanted out of his cradle.

I've been busy of late, loving on my new boyfriend.

I know the world will persecute us. They will say we are too different, that it will never work. But he's a deep thinker. He has an old soul. We were meant to be together -- like fireflies and frost, like Harold and Maude.

So now I have a boy neefew* and a girl neefew. Thanks to my siblings for so thoughtfully providing one of each -- this ought to keep my dad's killer baby cravings at bay a little while longer.**




* Gender-netrual form of niece/nephew.
**The people at church used to get mildly alarmed when he'd pull out his bag of toys and lure their small children onto his pew.

"I never know what to say for these things..." ;)

So a couple months ago I finally laid my pride on the altar of desperation and signed up for an internet dating site. I thought I was too good for such things. (Yes, I, with a monumentally pathetic dating life. Don't ask me to explain that vanity.)

There is something fishy going on there, though: 95% of the men in Internet Dating Land, no matter their age or girth, want me to believe that they are "very active." They want me to know that they run, they hop, they skip, they jump, they leap over tall buildings in a single bound and they grin as they do so. There need not be a damsel in distress -- it's just, you know, what they do at all times, because they are Active Guys. I know what this is -- it is an attempt to reassure me that while they may be older, they are still virile, cobweb-free. I understand, and I feel for them. (By the same token, none of my posted photos show me sans lipstick or from a bad angle.)

But does it never occur to these men that there are a lot of women out there who don't want to spend their entire dating/wedded lives cartwheeling up mountain trails? Women who are more intent on finding a man who can speak in complete sentences about things besides basketball? If he's a farmer or a rodeo cowboy, I definitely want to know how "active" he is. If he's not, I'd like to know he's intelligent enough to navigate the urban jungle reasonably well. And I'd happily trade that abundant nervous energy they all advertise for a couple sweet spoonfuls of I'm-willing-to-approach-you-and-ask-you-on-an-actual-date-
because-you-seem-to-maybe-kinda-sorta-possibly-be-worth-
the-risk-to-my-pride.*

Oh my......men with initiative. Is it hot in here, or is it just me?

* Of course, this all assumes that there are men (man?) currently roaming the earth who have any interest an ol' snarkstress like myself. Again, where does my vanity come from, and can I have it surgically removed? Maybe the indignities of internet dating will burn it out of me -- if so, that's $15 well spent, whether or not it gets me a man.