Halloween is coming!
Okay, it’s still a month away, but it’ll sneak up on you. Like Christmas always does, but way spookier and with much tackier decorations. Speaking of, have you ever really thought about what you’re buying when you buy Halloween decorations? You’re spending money on things to make your house look like actual garbage: cobwebs in a bag, bloody rags, maybe some rubber severed limbs. It’s pretty bizarre, all things considered, to have a holiday where you actively try to make your yard look like you’re some kind of mass murderer with a poor sense of body disposal.
That said, I do love Halloween. What better excuse to put together an amazing costume that represents who you truly are inside? Perhaps Batman, or Beetlejuice, or a sexy Spongebob Squarepants.
But even as an adult, the thing I love most about Halloween is the candy. Or rather, all the candy that goes on massive clearance the day after Halloween, muahahahahahaaha. And the king of all candy? KIT KATS.
It has been a rough week. A little over a month ago, I adopted a little green cheek conure named Turnip. He was energetic, sweet, charming, and an absolute weirdo — but long story short, despite the weeks and weeks of working with him (on my own and with a parrot behavior specialist), he was unhappy whenever I’d have to leave him to go to work, run errands, or basically do anything other than be right there with him. He apparently made a big fuss whenever I was gone, and so he had to be rehomed for the sake of his own sanity and that of my neighbors.
We had bonded fantastically, to the point where if he was getting outside time and I left the room to go attend to something else and took “too long” to return, he’d come searching for me. There have been more than one occasion when I was in the kitchen washing up only to find him crawling up my leg like a little feathery Spider-Man. Awwww.
My mind is in the tropics, with sand between the toes and an umbrella drink clutched in hand. Two weekends ago, I was in the Bahamas with my friend Sam, taking my first beach trip since I studied abroad in Sydney seven years ago, despite having reassured myself every month since then that a seaside retreat would come soon, so very soon. Sorry, self — I misjudged.
Once the beach was within sight, I stripped off my oversized gingham shirt like it was on fire and sprinted into the waves to do some hardcore frolicking.
I didn’t even stop to check for sharks.
Speaking of which, dressing for the beach is so easy because it’s just 1) bathing suit and 2) something to cover that bathing suit. But in Seattle, it’s back to pants. Ugh. Pants, you guys. PANTS.
Indulge me while I share some vacation snaps with you all, seeing as how my nice tropical tan will soon fade now that I’m back to spending 8+ hours a day indoors in an office. Just let me have this.
I admittedly have not really been cooking these past two weeks, and I don’t even have a good reason for it. It’s like I had suddenly reverted back to my college self, having nothing but ramen and instant miso soup for dinner and playing a lot of bad acoustic guitar. (You guys should hear my rendition of “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” it’s excellent. And by “excellent,” I do mean “really awful.”)
But yesterday, I broke the streak by making a monstrous loaf of challah.
Breakfast will always be my favorite meal of the day, though I rarely eat it during actual designated breakfast hours (TOO EARLY, PEOPLE). The food served before noon is so delightfully decadent and absurd; we don’t bat an eye to crispy pieces of fatty bacon, or to stacks of flat cakes smothered in syrup. It’s breakfast, after all, the most important meal of the day.
