Happy Halloween!

October 31st has totally snuck up on me this year! I've had my whole month goofy, really. I can't get down what day it is, and I keep thinking it's a week later than it actually is. I don't know how I got so confused.

It may have been because last weekend was the weekend I actually did anything Halloween related. I took a trip down to Austin with my friend, Megan, and we screamed our heads off at Austin's House of Torment. It was awesome.

I will now tell you about it.

First of all, the drive was excellent. It was mostly cloudy most of the way, which is my favorite weather to drive in. The traffic wasn't heavy. And the speed limit was 70. It actually didn't take us that long to get there. Very nice!

We'd bought our tickets on-line, which turned out to be a very good thing as the line to purchase tickets was super long.

The first thing we saw when we arrived was the hearse. Observe.

Glad I didn't arrive in this.

We were also pretty impressed by the massive, creepy pumpkin-headed thing standing watch over the entrance. I took a picture of it when it was still light outside—the better to see it with.

My, what big teeth you have...

Even waiting in line to enter was fun. They had ghosties and ghoulies roaming around the lines, scaring people. You weren't even safe if you decided to make use of one of the several porta-potties they had. The monsters would go bang on the doors, or wait for you to emerge and then proceed to scare any remaining crap out of you whilst chasing you back to the line.

It was awesome.

We are waiting in line. We are ready to be scared.

They let us in in groups of about ten, and there were two different attractions we walked through. They had monsters coming at us from everywhere. They'd spring out of the walls, swoop down from overhead, or run past you only to turn back around and follow you until you were out of their room. It scared the crap out of me.

I think the creepiest, most effective part was when they would sneak up behind you—me, specifically, because this happened to me SEVERAL times—and you wouldn't notice until you felt breathing on your neck. Holy crap. Scared me every time.

They had a great mix of live actors and animatronics. And noises. I screamed a lot. I probably made a fool out of myself. I walked through the second attraction with my hands poised by my face, ready to cower, or maybe punch, at a moments notice. (I never punched. I only screamed and cowered. But my self defense teacher would have been proud that I was in fighting stance the entire time.)

Also, I would just like to say that whoever was in charge of doing make up and costuming did a stellar job. Even before the sun went down, the actors looked amazing. They didn't just look like people dressed up to be scary. They looked like straight up, disturbed, scary as heck monsters.

Megan and I particularly enjoyed BoBo the clown. We got a picture with him.

BoBo 'n me.

All in all, it was so much fun. Getting scared is pretty rad, especially when you know you're not in any real imminent peril. And my throat was only a little sore the next day...you know, from screaming like a little girl. I would definitely recommend this haunted house to anyone who loves haunted houses. I, for one, would love to go back again next year!

After we got done there, we hit up Starbucks—because really, when don't I?—and decided to head back to College Station to catch a late showing of Paranormal Activity 2.

Yikes.

Megan and I had seen the first one in theaters together last year and both left seriously disturbed. I didn't sleep well that night, I'm just sayin'.

I refuse to give out any spoilers because I hate when things are spoiled for me, but I thought PA2 was a lot of fun, with a substantial number of scare-you-out-of-your-seat moments.

And it was an excellent way to wrap up our Halloween night. Granted it was a week early, but... That was Halloween for me. This weekend I'm not really doing anything Halloween related.

Instead I am going to a NaNoWriMo Kick-Off Party tonight! I will be having pancakes and gearing up for the first night of writing furiously. I already have my first chapter planned out in my head and am simply dying to get started. Midnight cannot come fast enough.

I hope everyone has a fun, safe, and frightfully excellent Halloween! Any of you guys have big plans? Haunted houses? Trick-or-Treating? Are any of you getting excited for NaNoWriMo?

Remembering Cowboy

I dreamed about Cowboy last night.

I remembered instantly when I woke up—not one of those dreams that fades as soon as you open your eyes. I don't remember everything about the dream, but I remember Cowboy. I remember petting him, hugging him, lovin' on him. Sometimes the worst dreams aren't nightmares; the worst ones are the ones that leave you disappointed and heartbroken when you wake up.

I believe in doggy heaven. Maybe it's cheesy, but I don't care. I mean, I believe in heaven and I believe that my dog is there. I can't imagine a God who would create all things—all the animals, every breed of dog—who would not want his creatures in heaven, too. And I think sometimes dreams happen for a reason.

After I woke up, I decided to go back and re-read what I wrote when Cowboy died. Ironically, though it's been about three years, I still feel pretty much the same way I did then. He had a long life, but I wanted him around longer. I hate that I wasn't there when he died, and I'd give anything to have him back again.

When I got to the bottom of one of my posts, I saw the dates. The month and year we got him, and the month and year he left us.

We got him in October.

I don't think it's a coincidence that I dreamed about him last night. For me, he was an October baby. It's only fitting that he's on my mind so often lately. The same thing happens to me in February, the month Cowboy passed away. Sometimes when I think about him, the pain is just as raw as it was when I first  found out he was gone.

Cowboy was my childhood dog. I grew up with him. He was like my brother and my best friend all rolled up into one. It's not easy saying goodbye to someone—even a four-legged someone—that has been such a huge part of our lives. I know it wasn't easy for me.

They aren't new posts, but I wanted to post the links here to the two posts I've written previously about Cowboy. Kibble, as we often called him. He was an amazing dog, my best friend, and I think it only fitting, at least for me, to revisit these posts while he's on my mind.

The first is called, "Cowboy." It tells the story, briefly, of how we came to get Cowboy—where he came from, how he got his name, and a funny story or two about him. This was the first post I wrote after Cowboy died. There are a couple of pictures of my handsome man in this post.

The second is called, "Him's a Lover Poochie, Yes Hims Is!" As the post explains, the title comes from a Luann comic strip that my Mom found in the Sunday funnies, as we call them. Somehow it stuck, and we would say that to Cowboy all of the time. This I wrote a few months after Cowboy was gone. Even though it's been about three years, the emotions I was feeling when I wrote it still pretty much ring true. The pictures included in this post are some that I stumbled on after Cowboy died. My Dad had taken them, and I'd had no idea. It was like uncovering treasure, seeing these great pictures of my special little guy.

I don't think I'll ever really be done missing my dog. I think any pet lovers out there will understand where I'm coming from. They aren't people, but they become a part of the family. Cowboy certainly was a member of our family and a huge part of our lives. You can say goodbye a million times but it never really gets easier, it just gets...numb-er. I still look for him sometimes, when I'm not thinking about it. I'll walk by one of his favorite places to sleep and glance over, expecting him to still be there. Or I'll hear our other dog, Kelsi, barking outside. Sometimes she sounds so much like him, I feel like he's still out there patrolling our yard. Even just the other day, I was talking to my Mom on the phone and heard Kelsi bark. For a second or two, I honestly thought it was him. It took a minute for me to remember that it couldn't be.

I wish I could go back several Octobers, back to the October when we first got him. Even if just for a day. It would be worth it.

The hurt never goes away. It just gets buried.

I love you, Cowboy. And I still miss you.

I see London, I see France...

It was two in the morning. And admittedly, I should have already been in bed, but I wasn't. I got wrapped up in Fatal Attractions—why, why, why would you handle poisonous snakes with bare hands??—and could only bring myself to turn off the T.V. when they started playing re-runs. So then I took Tucker out for his last potty break of the night, and that's when it dawned on me.

It felt amazing outside. There was a chill in the air, a rather boisterous breeze. After spending a day on campus in almost-ninety degree weather, it was bliss.

So I came back inside, flung open the balcony door (okay, well, it's a sliding door, so..."flung" is just for dramatic effect), turned off every light except my nightlight, and kicked back on the sofa. I could feel the cool breeze, was enjoying listening to the sound of the wind and some crickets, had started to feel completely relaxed. The perfect way to wrap up a long day.

And then the SUV drove up. It might have been a Jeep. I'm really not sure. I can only attest to the fact that it was silver and full of girls.

They parked it in front of my building; not a totally unusual occurrence, since they apparently just needed to drop their friends off. Out emerged two tanned and dolled up girls. Back from a night of partying, I assume. Laughing, giggling, staggering. Drunk. And if there had been any question of their intoxication in my mind, out it went when I heard, "Oh my god, I am so drunk!"

They made it up to the sidewalk well enough, and their friends drove away past my building, did a U-turn at the next one, and decided it would be like, super fun to honk at their friends as they headed for the exit. Their inebriated friends laughed and waved and stumbled towards what I can only assume is their apartment.

It might be super fun for you two, but honey, it's two in the morning. The rest of us are not quite so amused.

After these two girls disappeared, I resumed lounging on the sofa. I was thinking, "Okay. Noisiness is over, enjoy the breeze. Relax again. Then go to bed."

But no such luck. I soon learned that the noisiness was not over at all.

Suddenly, instead of just the sound of the wind, I heard muffled country music and the roar of an engine. A red convertible Mustang pulls up, blaring his stereo—loud enough that I can hear it from the third floor of my building even though he has his windows up. And can I just say that, at two in the morning, it doesn't matter what kind of music you're listening to; if it's cranked up, it's annoying.

He parked facing away from me, headlights still on, and killed the music. So then I thought, "Well that's nice. At least he switched it off before opening his car door or rolling down a window." Only then, instead of shutting off his car and getting out, he just sat there. The headlights stayed on. And then the music turned on again.

He sat there for several minutes and then, lo and behold, who should come back on the scene but the two not-so-sober girls from before. I could hear them before I could see them, giggling and laughing, as if completely unaware of the fact that it's now two thirty in the morning and most people are trying to sleep.

They walked between my car an the car next to me, headed for none other than Mr. Mustang. Who knew?

Both of them were still stumbling a bit, and one of them ran into the car parked next to me. Her friend said something along the lines of, "Watch out for the car," or, "Don't hit the car." To which the other girl replied, "As long as it's not my car!" and, as she laughed in a manner that said, "Heheh, I'm such a rebel," she proceeded to purposefully bump into the car next to me several times as she passed by, using whatever it was she was holding in her hands to thump along the side.

Sweetheart, that's not cute.

And then, the kicker. The punch line. The you've-got-to-be-kidding-me moment.

As I watched them head for the Mustang, worried that next they'll decide it'd be funny to bang against my car, I realized that one of the girls wasn't wearing quite what she was wearing when she got dropped off.

Somewhere along the way, she had lost her pants. And shoes. All that's left is a top and her underwear.

This didn't seem to phase her at all. I had to do a double-take to make sure my eyes weren't deceiving me. I thought, "Surely those shorts are just really short, because normal people don't hang around outside of an apartment building in their underwear, right?"

Wrong.

They were most definitely not shorts.

I just can't imagine. Even when drunk, I have never had the urge to show myself in public in my panties. In fact, even when I've had perhaps a bit too much to drink, I come home, make it up the stairs to my third-floor apartment, pop a leash on my dog, and take him out to use the bathroom before we go to bed. So I don't know what this girl's excuse is...

The last thing I heard her say as she and her friend headed back inside for the second time? "Oh my gosh! I can't believe I did that! I am so embarrassed!"

Well, hindsight is 20/20. And I, for one, didn't need to sight your hind.

Live and learn.

Get'choo some.

I got all these cartoons from NatalieDee.com. She is hilarious. I deserve no credit for them. I'm just sayin'.