A Halloween tale to be told

 I've been working on the Dragon Shadows Trilogy and its release so relentlessly, I let my next project sit on the shelf. It's a little cozy novella featuring Hazel, an amateur mouse sleuth. The story is in its third act and will be finished soon, but before I could write one more scene, there was a story in my brain that wouldn't leave me alone.

A tale best told during All Hallows Eve, a tale best heard by candlelight. Sit back with a glass of port--or perhaps a smoked cocktail would fit better. Smoked old-fashioned, anyone? Enjoy.

Ashes

Stuart’s entire body trembled violently, making it difficult to hold his cell phone, much less poke at the screen. After five failed attempts, he at last selected Jake’s number and held the phone, shaking, to his ear.

The phone was silent as usual while it decided whether there was enough service coverage to complete the call. He considered putting it on speaker but wasn’t certain if his finger could find the button. Also, he feared letting anyone else hear the conversation, even though he was alone in his apartment.

Alone…sort of.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he panted as the phone rang. “Shit, Jake, pick up.”

A groggy, guttural voice rewarded him. “S’up?”

“Get over here. Now.”

“Wha?” Rustling noises cluttered the background, accompanied by a moaning yawn. “Dude, I just woke up.”

“I don’t care, come over. I need help. Need it bad.”

“Doing what?”

Stuart ran his hand across his head. “I can’t tell you over the phone. But it’s bad, Jake. I’m in trouble and it’s bad. Please.”

“Mm-kay.” His friend did not sound convinced or hurried, but he was always true to his word. “Gimme five and I’ll be on my way.”

Stuart ended the call and sat at the edge of his bed in the silence. He still shook, although the quaking had localized itself to his knees. The bed rocked underneath him, a quiet squeak reminding him of last night’s activities, activities that had led him to the spot he was now in.

He’d swiped right on Tinder to what appeared to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was eager to meet, which made him uneasy. What if that gorgeous creature was just a product of Photoshop?

But she did not disappoint. He’d never seen a woman who turned every head in the place as she did when she walked into the pub. Gossamer layers of a short wrap dress revealed glimpses of toned thighs, the plunging v-neckline teasing at full breasts. Her long blue-black hair swung about her shoulders, shiny and thick, bouncing around her face without intruding upon it. The flow of her hair, the ruffling of the dress as she moved made it look as if she might take flight.

Stuart’s first thought leapt to song lyrics. Raven hair and ruby lips. He watched her large dark eyes skim the room like a predator hunting for a meal. When she spotted him, her mouth turned upward at the corners, and he felt a brief stab of icy fear before lust took control of his body.

“Stuart? I’m Phoebe.” She extended her hand.

If only I’d left it there, if only I’d left her there. He rubbed his head, pressing his temples. In an abrupt move, he stood and strode to the bathroom. His right hand caressed the doorknob, feeling the cold metal. He turned it, felt the click of the gears, took a deep breath.

Sighing, he let go and moved away. If I look again, I might hurl.

Vigorous knocking at the front door startled him and he ran to open it. Jake stood in the hall with a curious expression.

“So I’m here,” he said. “What’s the deal?”

“Shh, get in and be a little quieter, okay?” Stuart grabbed Jake’s arm and pulled him inside. “We don’t need to wake the neighbors.”

Jake shrugged. “Whatev.”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Stuart strode across the living room and back, pacing as he talked. “I did like you said and went on Tinder last night. Got a date right away.”

“Great!”

“No, not great!” He stopped. “Well, part of it was great. She was drop-dead, I mean, I don’t know if there’s another girl that beautiful anywhere.”

“Wow, and she swiped right on you?”

Stuart scowled at him. “Yes, thanks, she did. Actually, I was wondering that, too, but she wanted to meet right away, so we agreed to Quincy’s. We had drinks, then dinner, got along great, yadda yadda, then she says it’s time to go to my place.”

“Whoa-ho, that was fast.” Jake plopped onto the couch. “Did you two…?”

“Did we! Best sex of my life.” Stuart sat beside him. “I mean, I’m a simple guy, got maybe one button a girl’s gotta press. Phoebe found buttons I never knew I had.”

“Dude, tell me you didn’t call me over here to brag.”

“No!” Stuart jumped up and resumed his pacing. “Like, I thought she was really enjoying it, but after we’d done it nine times—”

“Wait. Nine times?”

“Shut up, it was crazy, we did it more than I thought was possible. Then, she takes one of the candles we’d lit and says, ‘I’ll be back soon,’ and heads to the bathroom. I asked her if everything was okay and she goes, ‘Really, you were great, but I have a special itch that needs scratched.’ Goes into my bathroom and shuts the door.” He stopped in the middle of the room, his shoulders sagging, deflated.

“So?”

Stuart pointed toward the bedroom. “Go open the bathroom door and look.”

Jake rose and did as he was directed. As he did, Stuart was hoping he had imagined the entire thing and his friend wouldn’t see what he saw.

“What the hell?” Jake yelled from the bathroom.

“I couldn’t get that lucky,” Stuart mumbled and joined him.

Jake was pointing at the bathroom floor. “Are these?”

“Ashes,” Stuart said.

“Like…?”

“Yes, like, human. Human remains.” Stuart waved his hand in the direction of the mess. “You’ll observe the bits of bone.”

“I don’t get it. She lit herself on fire with the candle?”

“Doesn’t seem possible.” Stuart shrugged. “I didn’t think a candle would burn a human to ashes. And I never heard any screams. Why didn’t she scream?”

The two men stood and studied what remained of Phoebe for several moments.

“Now what?” Jake said.

“How should I know? Do I call the cops?”

Jake stared at him. “And tell them what? ‘I’d like to report a case of spontaneous human combustion.’”

Stuart shook his head. “I’m stuck, Jake. This is either gonna end with me in prison or on the front page of the tabloids.”

“Not if there’s no evidence.” Jake rubbed his chin. “Get a trash bag and the broom.”

Stuart’s eyes widened. He looked down at the remains, back up at his friend, then nodded and went to the kitchen.

“Make sure we get her clothes, too,” he said.

Ten minutes later, they were at the front door, Jake jingling his keys and Stuart holding the bag. Jake turned to Stuart, “Where are we—hey, what happened to your hair?”

“I don’t know.” Stuart opened the camera on his phone and held it up. His short brown hair was stylishly scruffy, but now there was a white streak running across both temples. He held the camera closer—there were lines at his eyes, around his mouth that he swore he didn’t have yesterday. “Wow, last night was rougher than I thought. I look like my dad.”

“Let’s take care of this.” Jake pointed to the bag. “Maybe your face’ll relax.”

It was a half-hour drive from the apartment in San Diego to the southernmost side of the Otay Open Space Preserve, another hour driving around to find a recessed location to hide a bag, and another half-hour back to the city where Stuart and Jake could sit silently at a bar and drink themselves numb.

Stuart finally stumbled home sometime after midnight and passed out on the couch, promising himself to sell his bed, end his lease, and move to Montana in the morning.

* * * * *

Deep in the brush not far from the US/Mexico border, a trash bag rustled in the wind. It continued to flutter and puff as its contents expanded and stretched, until a lithe graceful arm reached from the opening and pulled the bag apart. A beautiful woman emerged, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and naked.

She felt around the bottom of the bag and smiled. “How polite of him to include my clothes.”

After dressing, she walked out of the brush and toward the road. That never gets old, she thought as she strolled along the pavement, feeling refreshed and renewed. And as long as mortal men are so easy, neither will I.

 

A tale for Halloween

Earlier this evening, I participated in HalloReads, an online gathering of some of the folks from the Southern California Writers Conference, a most unusual group. We have no official organization, no monthly meetings or dues or secret handshake--all we have are two conferences a year that form lifetime friendships. 

Everything my writer friends read was weepingly fabulous. Some horrific, some spiritual, some atmospheric, all leaving me to wonder what happens next. Such good writers. Such good friends.

I wrote a piece specifically for tonight's event. I didn't give it a title, but here it is:

* * * * *

Gillian poked her friend Catherine, jabbing her shoulder with one of her well-manicured nails. “Don’t mess this up for me.”

Catherine flinched but continued to wash her hands at the sink, watching in the mirror as young girls entered and exited the restroom. She splashed cold water on her face, patting around her eyes in an attempt to lessen the redness and swelling.

“I can’t help it, Gillie,” she said, retying her dark ponytail. “I don’t like horror movies. They scare me.”

“They’re supposed to scare you, ya big baby. That’s the whole point.” Gillian turned toward the mirror and applied an extra coat of lipstick. “It’s bad enough you still dress like you’re in grade school. Do you have to act like it?”

Catherine tugged at the hem of her Wakanda tee-shirt. “Sorry.”

Gillian rolled her eyes and pulled her friend outside to join the group. The pack of teens had gathered in an inconvenient clump in front of the theater door. Patrons pushed and excused their way in and around the traffic jam, but no one in the bunch saw any need to move.

“Sorry it took us so long,” Gillian said as she bounced up. “Cat had a hair in her eye. Took me forever to get it out.”

“Yeah, right,” Kyle said. “More like Scaredy Cat was having a meltdown.”

“God, Gillian, let’s go.” Allyson, a coltish blond, grabbed Kyle’s hand and dragged him down the street.

Everyone else peeled off and followed the pair, laughing, shouting, and jostling each other for space on the sidewalk. Gillian scurried to stay in their midst, while Catherine walked behind the crew, rubbing her hands. One of the boys, a tall gangly brunette, slowed to hang back with her.

“How’d you like the movie?” he asked. “Wasn’t it lit when the guy sliced that girl’s head off and she kept blinking and trying to talk?”

“Yeah, it was…lit.” Catherine looked up at him, thinking it was not lit at all. She glanced around, noticing the street for the first time. “Wait, we’re on Ash.”

“So?”

“So we’re going past the cemetery.” Her eyes rounded and her hands squeezed tighter.

“Yeah?” The boy called up ahead, bounding forward. “Hey, we’re going past the cemetery. We should totally take a detour.”

“No!” Catherine shouted, then quieted her voice. “I mean, it’s dark in there. We’ll get in trouble.”

The rest of the group ignored her, except for Gillian, who turned around and gave her an evil glare. They ran ahead, shouting, while Gillian dragged her reluctant friend to keep up.

“Don’t embarrass me,” Gillian hissed.

“We can’t go that way.” Catherine stood, refusing to move. “I…I can’t protect you there.”

“Protect me?” Gillian dropped Catherine’s arm and pushed her away. “What kind of weirdo are you? Go home!”

“Hey, Gillian!” A short, dark-haired boy walked backward, laughing. “Ditch the loser and let’s go.”

The graveyard stretched out to their right, bordered by wrought-iron fencing with an entrance of arched stone. The primary path ran up to a single mausoleum, a Romanesque structure with the name Pantera across the front in large letters. Auxiliary paths sprouted left and right, leading past the tombstones and grave markers throughout the green grass that blanketed the space.

This was the largest cemetery in town, and the oldest. Dates on tombstones went back three centuries, and there was an entire section in the back where the stones were all etched in Cyrillic characters.

On overcast days, Catherine enjoyed strolling around the grounds and reading the inscriptions. But not tonight.

Six teenagers ran into the darkened cemetery. Laughter rang from the tombstones, flashes of light marking the selfies being taken.

Gillian took a step to follow and was grabbed by her shoulder.

“Please, Gillie-Bear.” Catherine hadn’t called her best friend that since they were six. “I’m begging you. Don’t go.”

Gillian wrenched her body away. “Forget it, Kitty-Cat. Go back to your childhood.” She ran into the cemetery, calling to the others.

Catherine stood under the arched entry, staring after her ex-best friend. Rubbing her face with the back of her hand, she strolled to the mausoleum, expectant. Soon she felt her skin grow thick with fur, and she licked at her paw with a rough tongue to smooth her cheek. Her spine curved and limbs bent, and her sacrum stretched into a long twitching tail. She always screamed when that happened.

“What was that?” Kyle’s voice was faint. The group was moving further into the cemetery. Further away from the entrance.

Yawning, Cat sharpened her claws on a tall silver-barked tree. Her long white fangs glowed in the moonlight. It was a pity about those teenagers, but she tried to warn them.

Now it was time to go hunting.

* * * * *

PS, This is what I get for watching a double-feature of HOCUS POCUS and THE CAT PEOPLE.

BOO! From me to you.

October has been a busy month for me. When I'm not actually going somewhere and doing something, I'm in front of my computer, editing the 4th Peri book. I was going to call it "Married to Death" but I think that's going to be the title of the 5th book, which means I'm also constantly thinking of titles for this one and rolling them around in my brain.

Tonight is Halloween, and I'm normally both frazzled from hanging the decorations at the last minute and excited to see all the little superheroes and princesses who show up at my door. Plus, there's candy. Unfortunately for the little goblins and goblinettes, tonight I will be in Long Beach, watching this guy give his final recital.

Marcus, aka Jimi Hendrix, for Halloween

Last night, however, I got to dress up and go to a Masquerade Ball, hosted by the Placentia Library. It's their yearly Staff Appreciation Dinner, and they always do it up big. Last year was a costume party. This year, we put on our fancy clothes and bought cheap-yet-pretty masks to wear. 

I'm still wondering about the masquerade balls they threw in the olden days - how is it that you could remain mysterious and anonymous with one little mask? Especially one on a stick?

Here I am, looking all put together.

The mask was surprisingly comfy.

What you don't see behind the scenes is that it took me over an hour to get that way. For the first time EVER IN MY LIFE, I wore false eyelashes. Did really big, drama eyes, which called for big drama lashes. I got them on, more or less (I still need to work on getting the corners to conform to my lids), and wondered whether they'd stay on all evening or suddenly pop up unannounced, the way I've seen some women's falsies do.

They stayed.

I'm also wearing an outfit that has some kind of glitter on the cloth. Glitter that comes off, everywhere. It was like glitter dandruff. When I wore the outfit first, years and years ago, Dale was kvetching about having glitter on his suit and in the car, and I felt bad. Last night, I'm watching the trail of sparkle in my wake and thinking, "How wonderful, that at my age, I can still make the world a more sparkly place."

Here's my handsome date, Dale. I tried to find a Phantom of the Opera mask, but this was the best I could do.

I should mention the necklace I'm wearing. Ever meet someone and click with them right away and almost feel like you have shared a lifetime, even though you lived on opposite shores, had different families, and nothing about your external life is alike? I have a friend like that. We had never met, and when we did, we couldn't stop talking, and when we had to part, it was difficult. She gave me a necklace that her Welsh grandmother had given to her. I wore it last night for the first time, and not only did it look fabulous, it was like having the arms of ancestors wrapping around me, keeping me warm.

And now I must run off to the ranch and get my work done so I can come home, clean up, and run off to the recital. I'll leave you with a piece Marcus did last year. 

Boo!

I suppose I should have something pithy to say about Halloween, but I really just want to cruise YouTube, looking for snippets and trailers of some of my favorite scary movies. Mostly, I like the trailers for their sensationalistic qualities.




Don't you love it when the actor (Kevin McCarthy) starts speaking to the audience? "Please listen to me, listen to me!"

Then, OUT OF THE MURK AND MYSTERY...



Rubber claws are coming to getcha!

I don't know why I love this one so much:



I mean, it's not even an actual gila monster. They used a beaded lizard, for pete's sake. Since gila monsters are poisonous, they probably couldn't get the appropriate permit to handle one. You'd think they'd at least paint stripes on the beast.

For those of you who think I'm stuck in Black-and-White-Land, here's a horror movie in color:



Run, don't walk! Yeah, because, seriously, you can totally outrun this thing. And it stars Steve McQueen and "a cast of exciting young people" - jeepers, neato!

BTDubs, ever notice how everyone's first impulse is to try to shoot a monster? Why would you shoot bullets into a gelatinous blob? What are you trying to hit?

But enough corny horror trailers - have a safe and sane and spooky Halloween!

It's that time of year again

And by that time, I mean October, that magical month of Oktoberfest, Halloween, and a few things in between.

I'm not a horror writer, and not a big fan of over-the-top horror books or movies, but I like the stylish, intelligent, psychologically creepy stories that are probably not written anymore. My goal is to blog every day or at least every other day this month, just because it's so chock full o' stuff.

Let's start with a little beer and Bradbury. First, the Bradbury.




I love this book. Bradbury starts ominously, with a storm on the horizon and a stranger's arrival. Here's the first bit:

The seller of lightning rods arrived just ahead of the storm. He came along the street of Green Town, Illinois, in the late cloudy October day, sneaking glances over his shoulder. Somewhere not so far back, vast lightnings stomped the earth. Somewhere, a storm like a great beast with terrible teeth could not be denied.

Don't you just know that trouble is following that storm?

The book is still available in paperback and ebook (you might find a hardcover in a used bookstore), and the 1983 movie is available on DVD (or maybe Netflix, etc). I'd prefer curling up with the book for an evening, but the movie will do in a pinch.

But what kind of October refreshment goes with Ray Bradbury?

I happen to know he was a big fan of red wine, but this is beer month. I'm not much of a beer drinker, so when I went to Scotland and they served half-pints, I was thrilled. A half-pint is just enough beer for me, and it stays cold the entire time. In ten short days, I became a beer drinker, half a pint at a time.

I like ales, red and hearty, but nothing beats the beer I had in Lexington, Kentucky. Bourbon barrel ale. Ale that's been aged in a bourbon barrel for a few months.

And it's served in the sweetest little goblet.

It was full of that red ale flavor, with the hint of bourbon sweetness - and a higher alcohol content. Man, it was good. If I could get that in California, I'd drink a pint.

Next up: Another classic book/film, and more great libations.

Happy Halloween!

A friend of mine posted this to Facebook and I just thought it was so appropriate.



Creepy, kooky, mysterious, spooky, altogether ooky... but they know how to get their dance party groove on.


Or, if you'd like something a little more traditional, there's this.



Enjoy the day, any way you want to.

Cleanup on Aisle Five

Geepers, I'm a mess today.

Here it is, Halloween at last, and I should be giving you all a blog about how scary and fun it all is. I was all set to dress up my life-sized, cardboard Dean Martin in my feathery, sequined Mardi Gras mask and pose in my very own costume (a T-shirt that says "Drop Dead" and a witches hat), and give you a visual you'd never forget.

But then last night, Dale ran over one of the cables that feed the TV from the satellite. Sorry, did I mention he ran over it with the lawnmower? Yeah, sliced that puppy in two, instantly cutting off the signal and my regularly scheduled programming. He got it mostly working with the remaining cable, but he needs to purchase a new cable in order for us to DVR one channel and watch another. I predict much fighting over the remote until he gets this done.

To distract myself from Dale's attempts to fix the cable, I went to the store to buy our pumpkin to carve. We always decorate the house and carve a pumpkin. Unfortunately, all of the Albertson's pumpkins were warty. I mean look at these things. Our jack-o-lanterns are going to look like they've got acne.

But he's my baby!

Also, last night Marcus went to a Halloween party. I don't know any of the particulars, except that he came home to get his Renaissance costume to wear. Marcus is a 19-year old college student living in the dorms at CSU Long Beach; he could be going to a party every night of the week, drinking heavily and trying every drug on the planet. I have no idea what he does. I only know that when I know he's at a party, I have a rather fitful night's sleep and look around the next morning for some reassurance that he's okay.

Today I saw a post from him on Facebook, so I can relax. He at least made it back to his computer.

To top everything off, I can't find my Mardi Gras mask. I honestly can't remember where I put it, but two months from now, I'll be walking through the house and the image of where it is will hit my brain like a locomotive. It's how things work with me.

So today, I'm not going to give you my planned post about Halloween at the Carline house and how it has changed over the years and ask if you decorate your house and dress up and ask you to reminisce about your kids and the night the dog ate the pumpkin, etc. Instead, I'm going to ask a question that's been bugging me all night:

Why aren't there horror films about big, dangerous animals?

We have horror films about mutant small animals, like ants and lizards and octopi and even rabbits.



We have horror films about possibly dangerous, yet smallish creatures that attack in numbers, like bees and pirranha and spiders and rats. But how about lions and tigers? And bears? They're pretty nasty when they're just starved for a couple of days and then turned loose. What if they were starved and mutant? Why doesn't anyone ever make a horror movie about that?

If I made a horror movie, I'd make it about bears. Mutant teddy bears that all turn into large, slobbering, real grizzlies and eat all the parents, and no one would know how to stop them because we don't hunt bears in New York City, for Pete's sake. The mayor would have to call in some old, lonely, misogynistic guy from northern Alaska who hates the city and would just as soon see all these miscreants eaten by the rampaging teddy-grizzlies, but they give him enough money for booze  and a plane ticket home, and he hunts the bears down. All except the last one, who is a very smart she-bear, and she is shot by the plucky female sheriff's deputy, who has been dogging Grizzly Man's steps from the beginning. And then, they'd have an awkward moment, where Grizzly Man would like to like Plucky Female, except it's against his religion so he mumbles some kind of "Gee if you're ever in the Arctic Circle, come by and I'll defrost your mukluks," invitation. And as he gets on the plane, you see a little teddy bear has somehow made its way into his duffle bag, and it has the weirdest little grin.

And this would be its theme song.



Happy Halloween!

It's October - let the scares begin.

Tonight I went to see Pride and Prejudice at South Coast Repertory in Costa Mesa. It was a fun play, and I had a great time with my friend Sylvia, who had invited me (she has season tickets), but it got me to thinking: Hey, it's October. What a perfect time to read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

This is how my mind works.

I thought it might be fun to devote October's blogs to Halloween, with all its thrills and chills and even a touch of macabre. So I'm going to try to come up with a month's worth of scares, just for you.

'Cause I'm a giver.

Today's story is about the Not-So-Itsy-Bitsy Spider.

When I was oh-so-much younger, in my early thirties, I lived in a two-story condo in one of those uber-designed developments that had lush tropical landscape and streams running through the whole property (Placentia Lakes, for those of you who live in the neighborhood). My condo had been professionally decorated to reflect the outdoors: beautiful green carpet, pale peach wallpaper with vines, and a gorgeous wool rug that echoed the color scheme.

I came home from work after dark one night, and turned on a few of the lights. It was still a little dim in the room. My dog, Tyler, went over and started sniffing at a dark spot on the carpet. I went over to take a look, and possibly scold him for creating whatever was on the pretty new carpet, and saw it was a spider.

Not just any spider, but a Spider - big and black and at least the size of a silver dollar. We're talking huge, like that spider in Lord of the Rings. Mammoth.

Being an idiot, but a very stubborn one, I went to the kitchen and got the Raid. For the record, Raid does not work on spiders. I kind of knew that. I am, however, the Eternal Optimist, who believes that this once, the poison will kill something that usually doesn't succumb to it. I leaned over Shelob, pointed my weapon and pressed the button. I planned to keep spraying until either she asphyxiated or drowned.

At the first impact of spray, I discovered something about my giant spider. It wasn't a giant spider at all. It was a smaller spider with hundreds of babies riding on her back. Hundreds of babies that immediately scattered in every direction, including my feet.

I believe I screamed like a girl before I ran to the dining area to regroup.

Plan A didn't work. What was Plan B?  After I shuddered the "ick" out of me a couple of times, I went to the hall closet and got the vacuum out, then I reached under the kitchen sink and pulled out the duct tape. I plugged vacuum in, turned it on, and sucked all those little eight-legged freaks up into the bag. Then I quickly removed the bag, covered the opening with duct tape, and took it outside, to the dumpster.

I came back in and washed my hands a few (thousand) times, while I repeated, "Ew. Ew. Ew," at intervals. Spiders had never given me the willies before.

They do now.

How about you? Got any good spider tales?

Boo to you, too.

Quick post today, although I often start to dash off a quick post and end up pages later, thinking, where did I put that damn editor?

I love Halloween. Love to dress up. Love the fun-sized candy bars. Ten fun-sized Snickers equals one full-sized, doesn't it? Unfortunately, I don't get to dress up these days. No one in my age or friends group has costume parties. I could go trick-or-treating, but I think it might be just creepy for a middle-aged woman to go house to house, begging for chocolate.

This is my all-time favorite costume. My aunt Ardell made it for me. She's still alive, in her 80's, up and about with her self-decorated walker. By the way, I'm supposed to be a horse.

I made quite a few of Marcus' costumes. He wanted to be the Tin Man when he was four. I sewed the outfit, using silver lame, which isn't for wimps. A year or two later, he wanted to be Pikachu, a Pokemon character, which led to my best New Year's resolution ever: I promise not to ever work with fleece and cotton batting again.

This year, my college freshman is going as Jimi Hendrix. He can get away with it. He's going to a Halloween party, hosted by one of his college friends who is a very nice young man AND a few years older than Sonny-boy. Let's review - party is on Sunday night and Sonny's first class is at 8 o'clock on Monday morning. His last class is at 7 o'clock Monday night. As the responsible mom, I'm not sure whether to discuss the possible consequences of his possible actions, or whether to sit back and watch the train wreck unfold via his Facebook status.

I've dressed the horses up a couple of times, but only for the Holiday parade at the ranch. My favorite costume for Frostie is when she was pregnant at Christmas time. She looked great as the Virgin Mary. I'll probably burn in hell.

Snoopy has been The WW I flying ace (from Peanuts), Snoop Horsey Dogg (cornrows, bling, and all), and this little number, that I like to call, A Trailer Park Trash Christmas.

Oh - and Dale? He sometimes dresses up like this:

Get it? He's pretending to be an excitable guy. For those of you who know Dale, you'll totally get this joke. For those of you who don't, let's just say my hubby's bio-rhythm chart is a straight line.

What do you do for Halloween?