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We hope you all get what’s on your lists!

Cheers!

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[Note: This is not my dog. She would never allow such ridiculousness.]

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What with all the pumpkin decomposing going on.

When we last joined our garbage on the porch story, Vampire Kitty was looking a bit saggy, a bit un-Botoxed British actress-y. And Dog Pumpkin had its dark side growing from within.

Let’s see how they’re doing…

DAY SEVEN
What a difference a day makes, eh? Poor Vampire Kitty, she seems so deflated.
DAY EIGHT
I did not see that coming! Bat lost a wing! Although, in bat hindsight, totally predictable since he was sitting by the front door a metropolitan runway with his wings all vulnerable, hanging out there.

Meanwhile, Vampire Kitty has some nasty stuff happening internally. It almost looks like my shower drain hair growing in there. Zombie pumpkin hair?
DAY NINE
There’s really no magic serum to save Vampire Kitty in this story. (As an aside, those smiling pumpkins seem to be holding up. Perhaps it is all attitude? Or that they were carved most recently…)
DAY TEN
Bat got a little triage, see? But Vampire Kitty is turning rapidly into Pancake Kitty. And she’s leaky.
DAY ELEVEN
Okay, this is just plain gross.

Which is what the Hubs finally said.

Leaving us with this:
Aw. I miss their slimy, leaky, stinky pulpiness.

(Which is also what I said about the cancellation of As the World Turns.)

Well, you laughed, you cried you were grateful not to live with me or have to come over this past week.

Thus concludes our little gourdy drama…

Pumpkin bread, anyone?

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Well, it’s November 5th, and guess what?! We have some gourd-ous decomposing activity happening on our front porch.

Hi, neighbors and hot UPS guy!

So, the pumpkin goo writing is on the wall. It’s time for an experiment, doncha think?

If I avert my eyes, how long do you think these puppies will remain melting on our porch?

I’ve already taken a few days’ worth of snaps. Here’s where we are:

DAY ONE — HALLOWEEN
Everyone looking pretty fresh.

DAY TWO FIVE
(Yes, I skipped a few days; once in a blue moon ocassionally I do have a life!)
What’s that? We have some action, people! Notice the black mold happening in the dog pumpkin. Mmmmmm.

DAY SIX
Uh-oh! Vampire Kitty’s looking a slumpy, isn’t she? So deflated and sad….

Who’s gonna come out looking good? Will Vampire Kitty flatten before Dog Pumpkin bites it? Betcha can’t wait to see! My money’s on the bat. What do you think? Also, what day will the Hubs finally notice and say GROSS!?!

Isn’t science fun, kids?!

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Thanks for all the great beach walks, park runs counter-surfing adventures , bed-hogging and nostril/brain licks.
Here’s to ten more years, Boo Boo, of letting you in.

We love you.

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Oh, that’s right, I changed the title of this post…duh.
Yes! We went to the Port Townsend Kinetic Sculpture Race!

It was my first time. I was a kinetic sculpture race virgin.

And what is a kinetic sculpture race?

Just what is “kinetic,” you may wonder if you chose to grow up and not live in academia for decades like moi?

Dictionary.com says this:

ki·net·ic [ki-net-ik, kahy-]
1.pertaining to motion.
2.caused by motion.
3.characterized by movement: Running and dancing are kinetic activities.

So, this doesn’t actually say anything about “goofy” or “ridiculous” or “drunken” or “silly” or “goodoletime,” but it was. All that.

Contestants built their unique sculptures and raced on them through the streets of Port Townsend, as well as traveled on the water.
All kinds of themed sculptures competed.

Sure, many looked similar to not-so-disguised bikes with pontoons.

Fros N Peas ended up leading the water leg of the race we saw.

(“Fros,” get it? I only did just now.)
Some worked a little harder than others.
Some even carried dead weight passengers.
The pumpkin team had a smooth operation. We decided they must be engineers.The race was a bit surreal, but in a fun way.
So, you could understand why some spectators were a tad perplexed by the outlandish behaviour…
Watching all the drunken racers, we had a good laugh while the Hubs mentally designed his sculpture for next year.Check back with us next year…maybe we’ll be in race photos on someone else’s blog.

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Just a regular, old slice of Norman Rockwell.

But this year, turns out some dumb weirdo was taking a thousand photos of females, aged 11-40, at the fair and this time actually got caught.

Police charged him with voyeurism.

Yuck, right?! I know! That’s plain sick! I’m outraged!

Innnnterestiiiingly, however, we were there that morning for our annual excursion…and while I am so completely grossed out, of course, and we want that guy prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law (can you get convicted on voyuerism at a public place?), what I really want to know is….

Am I In That Camera??

I’ve been racking my brain…what was I wearing that day? How did I look? Was my hair washed? Did I make the cut??

Okay, sure I’m never telling you 39 still, a wife and a mother, but come on! I workout, I run, I O.D. on obscure vitamins and voodoo supplements, I try to take care of myself unlike when I was younger…than 39.

I’m probably not getting hired as a Project Runway model anytime soon, but still. I did recently get carded at the grocery store I go to every forty minutes week (and later, a clerk told me the age is 31 or under for carding nowadays. 31! That was… still not telling you 8 years ago!

Shouldn’t all that at least get me into a Kitsap County sicko’s camera roll?

A girl’s got her pride, doesn’t she? We women want to know we still got it or something resembling it…or something close enough that a weirdo would snap a shot of our tired boobs…don’t we?

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It starts off with a gorgeous image, a vision of calm, peaceful order and an appreciation of community and the natural beauty in all life.

You imagine you’ll have lovely, relaxing chats with your friends and neighbors.

As the natives declare they’re BORED get restless, you quickly realize you have a big, white target “X” on your back.

You scramble to entertain the enemy your kids with music and fun, perhaps an outdoor concert.

But even the littlest soldiers revolt.
(with the very littlest fighters yelling, “BANG,” instead of firing an actual gun)

Before the actual altercations began, you fashioned yourself the guy with the biggest, loudest gun on the field, but, alas, you need to fix a martini a reality check.

In the end, your fate turns out more like the band.

And your living room, strewn with popsicle sticks dead bodies that no one is picking up…

If you’re lucky, some summer camp instructor angelic vision will come to pray for your soul.

What month is this? September, right? Whaaa?

Do you have war on your hands or a peace treaty?

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I thought it’d be fun. I love marine mammals. I once tended to injured and abandoned marine mammals here.

What I forgot about is all the other mammals that would be on the trip.

The 7 and 8 year-old ones.

The ones who argue about what exhibit to see next, how long to stay at the current one, who is really their friend, and where they can slink off into the sea of child molesters without me seeing them.
Sure, they look all calm and behaved here.

The day started with the announcement and my first clue I should invest in a nice flask in the shape of a Starbucks cup by the teacher of a “glitch” of how we were down to one bus, rather than two.

This led to a packed-to-the-brim bus ride into hell through island morning school traffic and road construction. Yes, that day, we had traffic.

After corralling them into the ferry and then keeping them all together through the streets of enticing garbage, kickable newspaper stands, and fascinating homeless people downtown Seattle, we arrived at the lovely Seattle Aquarium before they officially opened.

Which would have been super-duper cool, if they had let us in.

Instead, I had my charges playing Simon Says for fifteen minutes on the dock out front. Simon Says “JUMP!”

Actually, Simon did say “Hug me and say YOU’RE THE GREATEST EVER!” Which they did. Cuz Simon Said.

We eventually got into the aquarium where much arguing, hiding and yelling ensued.
They were less interested in this fur seal and more interested in the photo of the fur seal located on the touch screens they could manipulate, the little bozos techno natives.

Ignoring all the live wildlife around them, dress up time in scuba clothing was also popular.
Also, known as time-killer.

Finally, we wrapped up our time with what every aquarium visit needs when it’s at least an hour too long: a rousing game of tag in the front lobby.

However, I’m glad to report that no marine mammal was injured in the making of this post, and as far as I know but I’m not listening la-la-la, all our mammals returned to their respective homes at the end of the day.

Home, where I holed in my room boozing it up to recover and remind myself to never again bring to the Seattle Aquarium more than 2 young, two-legged mammals.

What field trips from hell have you endured?

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