Powerball Fever recently gripped the states offering it, and
California is the most recent addition to those ranks. Last week I was
stunned when my friends - people who live comfortable lives and
otherwise don't seem prone to throwing their money out the window -
bought Powerball tickets. And talked rapturously about what they would
do with their winnings, about $300 million cash.
The first
thing most mentioned was how they would donate large sums of money to
help improve the lives of others. (I have kind and empathetic friends.)
Then they would save and invest a large amount, just to be sure that
$300 million would be enough to take them through their golden years.
(We're Boomers, not Depression Babies, but recent years have been so
harrowing that our fear of running out of money in retirement now rivals
that of our parents'.)
After those two gimmes come the
inevitable fantasies. Multiple homes. International
travel not involving cheap hotel chains. Servants. Cars. Designer
clothes bought at retail. Books bought at the last remaining independent
booksellers.
I'm pretty sure the comfortably well-off
didn't used to buy lottery tickets or have these fantasies. Hell, even the middle class was able to achieve most or all of those things. But in these
days of lowered expectations and a corporate culture that has conspired
to wring every dime out of must-haves that used to be affordable
(housing, healthcare, insurance, education, food, gas...), no one in
the 98 percent feels rich or confident about the future anymore.
Treading water is the new striving. Not worrying is the new luxury.
As
we roll into summer without the promise of $300 million for our bank
accounts, Powerball disappointment will fade and life will go on. We're
all pretty lucky we have enough to survive on and of course each other.
But I won't be able to stop thinking about the fact that a $300 million
payout briefly became a viable exit plan. Surely there has to be a
better way to get off the fiscal cliff.
Is Your Family Dysfunctional? A Holiday Quiz
Do you dread holidays? Have to gird yourself to face the relatives? Most likely your anxiety relates to sharing a room with a dysfunctional family. To see where yours falls along the spectrum, take this insightful quiz.
Part 1
Which of the following describes members of your family? Note: One person can qualify in multiple categories. Step-relatives count! And don’t forget to include yourself!
1. Racists
2. Ageists
3. Prejudiced against a certain religion or ethnicity (extra point for each)
4. Weapon-loving “loners”
5. Woman haters or abusers
6. Man haters or abusers
7. Dog-haters
8. Extreme Dog- and/or Cat-lovers (caring for more than five animals)
9. Pedophiles
10. Registered sex offenders
11. Drug addicts
12. Alcoholics
13. Gambling addicts
14. Sex addicts
15. Obese overeaters, bulimics, anorexics or others with eating disorders
16. Other addicts (specify: __________________________________________)
17. Anyone who has appeared on Jerry Springer or a Housewives show
18. Anyone who describes himself unironically as a “confirmed bachelor”
19. Sadists, masochists and sado-masochists (extra point if you know the difference through familial experience)
20. Religious fanatics
21. Prostitutes
22. Bigamists/the polyamorous
23. Sexually active couples comprised of two relatives (extra point if they actually get married)
24. Relatives married to someone at least 18 years older or younger than themselves (i.e., old enough to be their parent or child)
25. Products of artificial insemination or surrogate mother resulting in lawsuit
26. Chronic name droppers
27. Chronically unemployed
28. Chronic money borrowers
29. High school dropouts
30. Narcissists (extra point if narcissism is completely without any basis in reality)
31. Conspiracy theorists
32. Professional psychics
33. Socio- and/or psychopaths (extra point if you know the difference through familial experience)
34. Obsessives (extra point for each person, place or thing obsessed about; extra point for stalking)
35. Will-changers (e.g., a grandmother who uses inheritance as a weapon)
36. Convicted felons (extra point if currently serving time)
37. Charged but not convicted felons (extra point for each charge; extra point for each restraining order)
38. Juvenile delinquents
39. Phobics—specify fear(s): (examples: homophobic, agoraphobic… ___________)
40. Just plain nuts (be honest—annoying doesn’t count)
Total:
Part 2
Which members of your family do you currently not speak to?
1. Mother
2. Father
3. Sister(s)
4. Brother(s)
5. Half-sibling(s)
6. Spouse (Common-law or legal)
7. Ex-spouse(s) (Common-law or legal)
8. Inlaw(s)
9. Ex-inlaw(s)
10. Grandparent(s)
11. Great-grandparent(s)
12. Aunt(s)
13. Uncle(s)
14. Cousin(s)
15. Son(s)
16. Daughter(s)
17. Grandchild(ren)
18. Great-grandchild(ren)
19. Any step-relative(s) (including ex-step-relatives)
20. Relative(s) from which you are at least once “removed”
Subtotal:
Number formerly on list but now reinstated:
Number not included in above but only because they are hanging by a thread:
Number of relatives who are not speaking to other relatives (example: your sister is not speaking to your mother, your cousin is not speaking to his ex-wife…):
Total non-speaking relatives:
How many parents and step-parents do your children have collectively (not including yourself and your current spouse)?
How many of your ex-spouses owe you money?
GRAND TOTAL: _____________
Scoring
0-10 Why are you even taking this test? An Osmond could score higher! Are your relatives actually alive, or are they just not keeping you informed?
11-25 Politicians pray that their background search turns up a family like this. Not dysfunctional, just wacky enough to be interesting.
26-40 You come from the kind of family that the neighbors whisper about, as in “I don’t want you going over there!” Many of your relatives are considered a “bad influence,” and have probably caused you great embarrassment over the years.
41-60 Most likely no one in your family has killed anyone—yet. Besides intense competition at the family picnic for the “black sheep” award, your relatives (and possibly you!) suffer from myriad conflicting problems that keep shrinks, lawyers, diet doctors, Jerry Springer and nurse practitioners in the money. Hey, at least someone loves you!
More than 60 As nutty as they come. Your relatives not only have made you crazy, but your family’s combined dysfunction is its own vortex, picking up speed and growing exponentially, ensuring that generations to come will suffer as you surely do. There is no good news here, only an inevitable farewell wave to reality as one by one you and those related to you surrender fully to the insanity that is your family. Tip: help raise money for treatment by writing a blog, book or movie, especially one focusing on holidays!
Part 1
Which of the following describes members of your family? Note: One person can qualify in multiple categories. Step-relatives count! And don’t forget to include yourself!
1. Racists
2. Ageists
3. Prejudiced against a certain religion or ethnicity (extra point for each)
4. Weapon-loving “loners”
5. Woman haters or abusers
6. Man haters or abusers
7. Dog-haters
8. Extreme Dog- and/or Cat-lovers (caring for more than five animals)
9. Pedophiles
10. Registered sex offenders
11. Drug addicts
12. Alcoholics
13. Gambling addicts
14. Sex addicts
15. Obese overeaters, bulimics, anorexics or others with eating disorders
16. Other addicts (specify: __________________________________________)
17. Anyone who has appeared on Jerry Springer or a Housewives show
18. Anyone who describes himself unironically as a “confirmed bachelor”
19. Sadists, masochists and sado-masochists (extra point if you know the difference through familial experience)
20. Religious fanatics
21. Prostitutes
22. Bigamists/the polyamorous
23. Sexually active couples comprised of two relatives (extra point if they actually get married)
24. Relatives married to someone at least 18 years older or younger than themselves (i.e., old enough to be their parent or child)
25. Products of artificial insemination or surrogate mother resulting in lawsuit
26. Chronic name droppers
27. Chronically unemployed
28. Chronic money borrowers
29. High school dropouts
30. Narcissists (extra point if narcissism is completely without any basis in reality)
31. Conspiracy theorists
32. Professional psychics
33. Socio- and/or psychopaths (extra point if you know the difference through familial experience)
34. Obsessives (extra point for each person, place or thing obsessed about; extra point for stalking)
35. Will-changers (e.g., a grandmother who uses inheritance as a weapon)
36. Convicted felons (extra point if currently serving time)
37. Charged but not convicted felons (extra point for each charge; extra point for each restraining order)
38. Juvenile delinquents
39. Phobics—specify fear(s): (examples: homophobic, agoraphobic… ___________)
40. Just plain nuts (be honest—annoying doesn’t count)
Total:
Part 2
Which members of your family do you currently not speak to?
1. Mother
2. Father
3. Sister(s)
4. Brother(s)
5. Half-sibling(s)
6. Spouse (Common-law or legal)
7. Ex-spouse(s) (Common-law or legal)
8. Inlaw(s)
9. Ex-inlaw(s)
10. Grandparent(s)
11. Great-grandparent(s)
12. Aunt(s)
13. Uncle(s)
14. Cousin(s)
15. Son(s)
16. Daughter(s)
17. Grandchild(ren)
18. Great-grandchild(ren)
19. Any step-relative(s) (including ex-step-relatives)
20. Relative(s) from which you are at least once “removed”
Subtotal:
Number formerly on list but now reinstated:
Number not included in above but only because they are hanging by a thread:
Number of relatives who are not speaking to other relatives (example: your sister is not speaking to your mother, your cousin is not speaking to his ex-wife…):
Total non-speaking relatives:
How many parents and step-parents do your children have collectively (not including yourself and your current spouse)?
How many of your ex-spouses owe you money?
GRAND TOTAL: _____________
Scoring
0-10 Why are you even taking this test? An Osmond could score higher! Are your relatives actually alive, or are they just not keeping you informed?
11-25 Politicians pray that their background search turns up a family like this. Not dysfunctional, just wacky enough to be interesting.
26-40 You come from the kind of family that the neighbors whisper about, as in “I don’t want you going over there!” Many of your relatives are considered a “bad influence,” and have probably caused you great embarrassment over the years.
41-60 Most likely no one in your family has killed anyone—yet. Besides intense competition at the family picnic for the “black sheep” award, your relatives (and possibly you!) suffer from myriad conflicting problems that keep shrinks, lawyers, diet doctors, Jerry Springer and nurse practitioners in the money. Hey, at least someone loves you!
More than 60 As nutty as they come. Your relatives not only have made you crazy, but your family’s combined dysfunction is its own vortex, picking up speed and growing exponentially, ensuring that generations to come will suffer as you surely do. There is no good news here, only an inevitable farewell wave to reality as one by one you and those related to you surrender fully to the insanity that is your family. Tip: help raise money for treatment by writing a blog, book or movie, especially one focusing on holidays!
Happy (Not Hellish) Sixth
Today is the sixth anniversary of Hellish Holidays. This begins our sixth season of accepting the reality that is Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Eve, Valentine's Day and more. We wish you holidays that are not the least bit hellish - but encourage you to embrace your memories of those that were.
Thanksgiving Dinners Weirder Than Yours (Videos)
Mashed Potato Fight on Thanksgiving
OK, so this one guy wouldn't give this other guy his phone back? So the other guy throws mashed potatoes at the first guy? And then it, like, escalates? Who says you need to go home to have a fight on Thanksgiving? Caution: language alert.
No Need to Dress for Dinner...
Looks like Great Grandma came straight from the pool to the table.
Sleep-Eating
It's the children I feel sorry for.
10 Ways to Have a Hellish Family Holiday
Recent experience has given me insights into how to make a bad thing worse. Others push fun, family and time-saving tips, but Hellish Holidays is all about keeping it real. Don't know how to have a Hellish Holiday? Here are some steps you can take:
1. Multiple Generations. Two generations can be grating, but it's hard to be hellish without a grandparent in the mix. In a pinch, aunts and uncles can raise issues thought to have been put to rest for decades.
2. Lowered Expectations. "Can't we all at least pretend to like each other this year?" In other words: let's not actually like each other, just fake it for a few hours. Sadly, even this dream can die hard.
3. Kitchen Disasters. The turkey caught fire, the oven died, the dishwasher broke — holidays with ruined food and hand-washing of service for 18 are classically hellish.
4. A Well-Placed Insult — and Its Riposte. "I always knew you felt that way! Now I can tell you how I really feel about your [significant other, relationship with Mom, personal cleanliness, Jello mold...]."
5. Inappropriate Escorts. Bring a date with full-body tattoos and an ankle monitor to Grandma's house and you're just asking for a memorable meal--and not in a good way. Ditto someone too old or young, too poor (no such thing as too rich) or too felonious.
6. Special Diets. "What do you mean, is the turkey organic? Of course not. You don't get a breast like that without hormones!" Watching someone load up on one food and bypass all the others gives the whole rest of the table something to mutter about.
7. Sports. Hours and hours of NFL as a soundtrack can fray nerves and build resentment as we flash back to the '50s when women slaved away in the kitchen while the menfolk sat around. The only thing worse would be hockey.
8. A No-Show. Your sister blew off the dinner? Dad ran to the store and never came back? While it's fun to build unanimity among those left behind by trashing the departed, missing relatives cast a shadow over the proceedings.
9. Physical Injuries. Someone slipped on cranberry sauce and had to go to the ER. Grandpa didn't make it up the stairs - so much for that new hip. Let's face it: when paramedics show up, the holiday goes straight to hell.
10. Special Announcements. "I'm going to be a mother--and there is no father." "I'm quitting my job to stalk Courtney Love." "You know, Rush Limbaugh has it all figured out." These kinds of comments don't just ruin dinner, they shatter lives.
1. Multiple Generations. Two generations can be grating, but it's hard to be hellish without a grandparent in the mix. In a pinch, aunts and uncles can raise issues thought to have been put to rest for decades.
2. Lowered Expectations. "Can't we all at least pretend to like each other this year?" In other words: let's not actually like each other, just fake it for a few hours. Sadly, even this dream can die hard.
3. Kitchen Disasters. The turkey caught fire, the oven died, the dishwasher broke — holidays with ruined food and hand-washing of service for 18 are classically hellish.
4. A Well-Placed Insult — and Its Riposte. "I always knew you felt that way! Now I can tell you how I really feel about your [significant other, relationship with Mom, personal cleanliness, Jello mold...]."
5. Inappropriate Escorts. Bring a date with full-body tattoos and an ankle monitor to Grandma's house and you're just asking for a memorable meal--and not in a good way. Ditto someone too old or young, too poor (no such thing as too rich) or too felonious.
6. Special Diets. "What do you mean, is the turkey organic? Of course not. You don't get a breast like that without hormones!" Watching someone load up on one food and bypass all the others gives the whole rest of the table something to mutter about.
7. Sports. Hours and hours of NFL as a soundtrack can fray nerves and build resentment as we flash back to the '50s when women slaved away in the kitchen while the menfolk sat around. The only thing worse would be hockey.
8. A No-Show. Your sister blew off the dinner? Dad ran to the store and never came back? While it's fun to build unanimity among those left behind by trashing the departed, missing relatives cast a shadow over the proceedings.
9. Physical Injuries. Someone slipped on cranberry sauce and had to go to the ER. Grandpa didn't make it up the stairs - so much for that new hip. Let's face it: when paramedics show up, the holiday goes straight to hell.
10. Special Announcements. "I'm going to be a mother--and there is no father." "I'm quitting my job to stalk Courtney Love." "You know, Rush Limbaugh has it all figured out." These kinds of comments don't just ruin dinner, they shatter lives.
Halloween's Black Friday Equivalent
The day after Thanksgiving - or more accurately, later that night - everyone piles into the hybrid SUV with the now-defunct election bumper sticker and heads to the mall for the Black Friday sales. For many people, post-holiday shopping is more important than the holiday itself. Turkey? Feh, not interested. They're too busy scrolling through the Black Friday ads and making a plan of attack for 5:00 a.m.
I am not one of these people. While I love a bargain, I do not love a bargain more than I hate being with other people. Seriously, I run a website called "Hellish Holidays" - do I sound like someone with unconditional love for her fellow man? Of course not. I am someone who prefers shopping online and going to the grocery store mid-morning. I live for the reverse commute (not that such a thing exists any more in Los Angeles) and sitting next to an empty seat on an airplane (something else that doesn't exist any more).
But there is one post-holiday sale I cannot resist, and it is the November 1 candy extravaganza. On Halloween, while my son parcels out Fun Size whatever-I-had-a-coupon-fors, I scan the ad circulars of the local chain drugstores and supermarkets. I prioritize and plan. And the morning of November 1, I set my alarm and go. If I found a line outside of CVS, I would wait in it. Because through that automatic door is candy. And not just any candy - half-price candy! The most delicious kind of candy you can buy!
I am not one of these people. While I love a bargain, I do not love a bargain more than I hate being with other people. Seriously, I run a website called "Hellish Holidays" - do I sound like someone with unconditional love for her fellow man? Of course not. I am someone who prefers shopping online and going to the grocery store mid-morning. I live for the reverse commute (not that such a thing exists any more in Los Angeles) and sitting next to an empty seat on an airplane (something else that doesn't exist any more).
But there is one post-holiday sale I cannot resist, and it is the November 1 candy extravaganza. On Halloween, while my son parcels out Fun Size whatever-I-had-a-coupon-fors, I scan the ad circulars of the local chain drugstores and supermarkets. I prioritize and plan. And the morning of November 1, I set my alarm and go. If I found a line outside of CVS, I would wait in it. Because through that automatic door is candy. And not just any candy - half-price candy! The most delicious kind of candy you can buy!
There aren't many kinds of candy I don't like. Over the years I have even learned to love the Almond Joy bar, and I'm not crazy about coconut or almonds. It could be because the song from my youth ("Almond Joy's got nuts - Mounds don't") still rings in my head the way Shakespeare and Emily Dickinson never could.
Naturally I have my favorites - black licorice All-Sorts (no one ever gives that), Butterfingers, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. But really, I'll eat anything that's 100 calories a bite. I feel about candy the way Jerry Seinfeld did when he was a kid. Apparently he got over it. But I didn't.
Naturally I have my favorites - black licorice All-Sorts (no one ever gives that), Butterfingers, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. But really, I'll eat anything that's 100 calories a bite. I feel about candy the way Jerry Seinfeld did when he was a kid. Apparently he got over it. But I didn't.
The House from Hell
For nine years I lived in a freak house. I'm not talking about my family, necessarily, but about the house itself. I lived in one of the most upscale suburbs and school districts in the country--but our house was a falling-down rental at the end of a long, rutted driveway. It wasn't exactly The Glass Castle, more like Grey Gardens without the money.
Today that driveway is a smoothly paved road through a development of multimillion-dollar houses in Westchester County. But in my memory it lives on as a hellish byway of broken asphalt, ancient patch jobs and loose gravel that scared away parents and children, and ruined Halloween (and many other days as well).
When the access to your house involves a quarter mile of bottoming out, you'd better believe you won't have too many visitors. Factor in darkness and you've definitely got the place to yourself. I remember when I used to be driven home by dads after a night of babysitting: they would stop their precious Benz or Caddy at the beginning of the driveway and shine their headlights to guide me as I stumbled home. Hey, thanks for the ride! By the way, your son's a pyromaniac!
Once you got all the way to the end, it was pretty spooky, even in the daylight, and even on days that weren't Halloween. The property had been a nursery, and had several leaning outbuildings--two garages and a greenhouse--as well as a rusted old gas pump. When I was younger, the acres of overgrown fields, the woods, the apple orchard and even the crumbling greenhouse held immense charm. As I hit puberty, however, I learned to be ashamed of the way we lived. Like generic rice puffs and knee socks that wouldn't stay up, our house was a mark of failure, a manifestation of how we didn't measure up to those whose driveways were short and smooth, whose houses were sturdy and professionally decorated, whose cabinets were filled with Cap'n Crunch and drawers with socks that didn't droop.
On Halloween we kids had to make our way down the driveway to join friends for trick or treating at "real" houses. No one ever trick or treated at our house. My parents thought this a benefit--imagine the savings on Fun-Size Snickers! But then they also enjoyed the beautiful setting and unavoidable privacy in a way that a self-conscious adolescent just could not fathom. My mother actually looked forward to mowing the massive yard that she personally carved out of what had looked like a wheat field when we moved in. Who could make sense of that?
After trick or treating I would return to our house, with its clawed-foot bathtubs, its extension cord running up the stairs to provide electricity to my own personal attic, its dank basement and odd layout of bedrooms. I would replay the comments I'd heard during the course of the night: "Do you live in a haunted house?" "How do you go down that driveway? Aren't you scared?" "Do you ever get any trick or treaters?" I would recall my swaggering answers, all bluff and bluster: "I hate new houses!" "There's nothing to be scared of. I feel sorry for people who live in boring houses." "We don't get trick or treaters but that just means we get to eat all the candy ourselves."
And then I would eat all the candy myself.
Today that driveway is a smoothly paved road through a development of multimillion-dollar houses in Westchester County. But in my memory it lives on as a hellish byway of broken asphalt, ancient patch jobs and loose gravel that scared away parents and children, and ruined Halloween (and many other days as well).
When the access to your house involves a quarter mile of bottoming out, you'd better believe you won't have too many visitors. Factor in darkness and you've definitely got the place to yourself. I remember when I used to be driven home by dads after a night of babysitting: they would stop their precious Benz or Caddy at the beginning of the driveway and shine their headlights to guide me as I stumbled home. Hey, thanks for the ride! By the way, your son's a pyromaniac!
Once you got all the way to the end, it was pretty spooky, even in the daylight, and even on days that weren't Halloween. The property had been a nursery, and had several leaning outbuildings--two garages and a greenhouse--as well as a rusted old gas pump. When I was younger, the acres of overgrown fields, the woods, the apple orchard and even the crumbling greenhouse held immense charm. As I hit puberty, however, I learned to be ashamed of the way we lived. Like generic rice puffs and knee socks that wouldn't stay up, our house was a mark of failure, a manifestation of how we didn't measure up to those whose driveways were short and smooth, whose houses were sturdy and professionally decorated, whose cabinets were filled with Cap'n Crunch and drawers with socks that didn't droop.
On Halloween we kids had to make our way down the driveway to join friends for trick or treating at "real" houses. No one ever trick or treated at our house. My parents thought this a benefit--imagine the savings on Fun-Size Snickers! But then they also enjoyed the beautiful setting and unavoidable privacy in a way that a self-conscious adolescent just could not fathom. My mother actually looked forward to mowing the massive yard that she personally carved out of what had looked like a wheat field when we moved in. Who could make sense of that?
After trick or treating I would return to our house, with its clawed-foot bathtubs, its extension cord running up the stairs to provide electricity to my own personal attic, its dank basement and odd layout of bedrooms. I would replay the comments I'd heard during the course of the night: "Do you live in a haunted house?" "How do you go down that driveway? Aren't you scared?" "Do you ever get any trick or treaters?" I would recall my swaggering answers, all bluff and bluster: "I hate new houses!" "There's nothing to be scared of. I feel sorry for people who live in boring houses." "We don't get trick or treaters but that just means we get to eat all the candy ourselves."
And then I would eat all the candy myself.
Halloween Is Going to the Dogs (Videos)
Peedy and the Halloween Candy Dish
It's not nice to talk back to the skull.
A Real Butthead
Boxer Seeks Gun
At what point do these people recognize animal cruelty? Even the weiner dog is laughing at the poor pumpkin-garbed boxer.
Last-Minute Mask
Too lazy, cheap, disorganized or disinterested to have your Halloween costume together? Don't be too hard on yourself - we've all been there! If you have a color printer, click here to solve your procrastinating problem. Enjoy!
Halloween Snark (Videos)
Leave it to Joe to take snark to its highest level. These costumes aren't just politically incorrect, they give bad taste a bad name.
"Halloween is not an excuse to be a slut" - WHAT?! Good thing no one told me this in my 20s.
Is it snarky to call her out for her overplumped lips? This isn't Gawker, after all...
"Halloween is not an excuse to be a slut" - WHAT?! Good thing no one told me this in my 20s.
Is it snarky to call her out for her overplumped lips? This isn't Gawker, after all...
Hellish Halloween House Halted
According to the Huffington Post, a "dazzling Halloween lights show" in Riverside, California has been shut down by the local Homeowners Assn. Hard to blame those who live within 100 decibels...or 1,000 lumens...or however you want to measure the noise and light pollution. The 2,000 visitors can't have been fun to navigate around either!
Reasons to Stay Single, Halloween Edition (Videos)
I'm going to let these speak for themselves.
I could go on and on...
I could go on and on...
The Black Friday Price Match
In response to having their stores used as showrooms by consumers
who then by online for less, brick-and-mortar retailers are fighting back.
Target
will match online prices at Amazon, Wal-Mart, Best Buy and Toys R Us. The
program will run between November 1 and December 16.
Best Buy will
price-match 20 online retailers this holiday season, as well as offering free
shipping on items not available in stores. The new policy, likely to go into
effect starting Sunday, November 4, will not be in effect the week of
Black Friday through Cyber Monday. A more critical caveat: Best Buy customer
service representatives are permitted to honor the policy at their discretion.
Get ready for some
hellish tales. Price-matching can be awkward, and staff training critical.
Let's hope Target and Best Buy are holding classes now!
Halloween Date From Hell
It just seems wrong to complain about a Hellish Halloween. After all, isn't that the whole point? Yes, there are parades and parties and dressing up. But the holiday's very nature is to be creepy. It's about scaring small children, TPing and egging, eating too much candy, getting separated from your hard-to-recognize friends...there are so many ways this gruesome holiday can go bad. Here's one you may not have thought of before.
One October in my twenties I was single and going through a dry spell. OK, large chunks of my twenties were dry, but that's another (hellish) story. I went out to dinner with a couple of girlfriends, and one of them brought her brother, Andrew. Andrew was, like me, a writer, but unlike me he actually had published several books.
Andrew and I hit it off. Sure, he was short, pudgy and bald, but at least he was funny. Ask my friend Peter--for years my main dating credo was "Looks Don't Matter." I believe the way he put it was, "Well, no one could accuse you of having a 'type.'" Frankly, Peter was always unable to differentiate between laughing with my dates and laughing at them. But I digress.
After dinner Andrew offered to walk me to the Fifth Avenue bus. I was living in Chelsea, and as we walked we talked about our upcoming Halloween plans. I figured I would catch the infamous Halloween parade in Greenwich Village and go to a couple of nearby costume parties. He asked if he could accompany me. I figured, why not? I rarely had dates on any of the major holidays. By major I mostly mean Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve, but Halloween as a party night is also pretty major. Just not ideal for a first date, as I discovered.
We had a brief discussion about what costumes we would wear. He was noncommittal. Yes, he would wear one, but he had no idea what it might be. Certainly we would not be in anything coordinated since we barely knew each other--and by the way, I dislike it when couples coordinate their costumes, so that was fine by me. I generally wore something pretty girly since, well, what the hell. (There was the year I put a box over my shoulders and went as a table with my head for a centerpiece, but I was engaged by then and had different priorities.)
At the appointed hour Andrew rang my doorbell. I opened the door in whatever mildly sexy get-up I had adlibbed for the evening. He was standing there in a loud, patterned shirt, white pants that cut off just above his ankles, and white shoes. From the neck up he had done nothing. He was still bald. Oh, and of course he was still short and chubby, too. He carried a straw hat which he put on his bald head with a flourish. (I know I seem to be stressing the "bald" part, but after all he was the one who had chosen a costume where baldness was highlighted, and not in a positive way.)
"What are you?" I asked with what I hoped did not sound too much like horror.
"An old Jew!" he proclaimed proudly. "Straight out of Miami Beach!" He spoke in a heavy Brooklyn accent.
"Wow," I said. Sort of the way people say, "That sure is something!" when what they're really thinking is "...something hideous and misguided." It felt so anti-Semitic, even though he was Jewish. It felt less Halloween, more Purim, less a costume and more an insulting impression.
"Do you like it?" he asked, with the inflection of a star of Yiddish theater.
"Wow," I repeated inanely. Just as one's life supposedly flashes before one's eyes in the moments before death, various possible exit strategies presented themselves and were instantly rejected. How could I say the parties had both been canceled? And the parade? He would never buy that! I obviously hadn't sprained my ankle. Or fallen down a flight of stairs. But it wasn't too late! I still had to get out of the building...oh, I had to face the truth: I was going to attend parties given by people I liked and respected with someone for whom I felt neither of those things.
At the last minute it occurred to me that I could wear a mask. If only I'd had the prescience to buy one.
All night, if I saw someone I knew, I veered quickly. I managed to make it through both parties without introducing Andrew to anyone. Unfortunately that meant I didn't greet or thank the hosts, but the tradeoff seemed reasonable, even for someone as hung up on etiquette as I am. The parade was a blur. A couple of times I thought about edging away and getting lost in the crowd, but that just seemed too cruel, despite the seemingly endless Jewish jokes and that nails-on-blackboard accent.
I finally came up with an alibi to cut the evening short: my dog, the shoe-eating Harley. Of course! I had to get back and walk him! It had been a whole...two hours! He could NEVER go that long without a walk. (The fact that I had a full-time job and was gone for 10 or more hours at a time wouldn't cross Andrew's mind, would it? Oh, at this point who cared!) I was looking forward to never seeing him again. As the New Yorker cartoon says, "How about never? Does never work for you?"
The plan backfired somewhat when Andrew insisted on going with me and Harley to Union Square Park. "What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't escort the lady on All Hallows Eve?" was how I believe he put it. I protested, but that old Jew sure was persistent and I gave in. After all, I knew his sister, and that had to count for something.
As we walked to the park I was almost lighthearted. I could see that the night would not in fact be the bottomless chasm I had previously envisioned. It would actually end at some point, although certainly not soon enough. We watched Harley do his business--always a fun way to end a date--and returned to my building without incident. I said goodbye downstairs, declining his repeated offers to "come up and see me some time." And so, finally, he walked away, telling me, "Hey babe, no promises."
Originally published October 29, 2007.
One October in my twenties I was single and going through a dry spell. OK, large chunks of my twenties were dry, but that's another (hellish) story. I went out to dinner with a couple of girlfriends, and one of them brought her brother, Andrew. Andrew was, like me, a writer, but unlike me he actually had published several books.
Andrew and I hit it off. Sure, he was short, pudgy and bald, but at least he was funny. Ask my friend Peter--for years my main dating credo was "Looks Don't Matter." I believe the way he put it was, "Well, no one could accuse you of having a 'type.'" Frankly, Peter was always unable to differentiate between laughing with my dates and laughing at them. But I digress.
After dinner Andrew offered to walk me to the Fifth Avenue bus. I was living in Chelsea, and as we walked we talked about our upcoming Halloween plans. I figured I would catch the infamous Halloween parade in Greenwich Village and go to a couple of nearby costume parties. He asked if he could accompany me. I figured, why not? I rarely had dates on any of the major holidays. By major I mostly mean Valentine's Day and New Year's Eve, but Halloween as a party night is also pretty major. Just not ideal for a first date, as I discovered.
We had a brief discussion about what costumes we would wear. He was noncommittal. Yes, he would wear one, but he had no idea what it might be. Certainly we would not be in anything coordinated since we barely knew each other--and by the way, I dislike it when couples coordinate their costumes, so that was fine by me. I generally wore something pretty girly since, well, what the hell. (There was the year I put a box over my shoulders and went as a table with my head for a centerpiece, but I was engaged by then and had different priorities.)
At the appointed hour Andrew rang my doorbell. I opened the door in whatever mildly sexy get-up I had adlibbed for the evening. He was standing there in a loud, patterned shirt, white pants that cut off just above his ankles, and white shoes. From the neck up he had done nothing. He was still bald. Oh, and of course he was still short and chubby, too. He carried a straw hat which he put on his bald head with a flourish. (I know I seem to be stressing the "bald" part, but after all he was the one who had chosen a costume where baldness was highlighted, and not in a positive way.)
"What are you?" I asked with what I hoped did not sound too much like horror.
"An old Jew!" he proclaimed proudly. "Straight out of Miami Beach!" He spoke in a heavy Brooklyn accent.
"Wow," I said. Sort of the way people say, "That sure is something!" when what they're really thinking is "...something hideous and misguided." It felt so anti-Semitic, even though he was Jewish. It felt less Halloween, more Purim, less a costume and more an insulting impression.
"Do you like it?" he asked, with the inflection of a star of Yiddish theater.
"Wow," I repeated inanely. Just as one's life supposedly flashes before one's eyes in the moments before death, various possible exit strategies presented themselves and were instantly rejected. How could I say the parties had both been canceled? And the parade? He would never buy that! I obviously hadn't sprained my ankle. Or fallen down a flight of stairs. But it wasn't too late! I still had to get out of the building...oh, I had to face the truth: I was going to attend parties given by people I liked and respected with someone for whom I felt neither of those things.
At the last minute it occurred to me that I could wear a mask. If only I'd had the prescience to buy one.
All night, if I saw someone I knew, I veered quickly. I managed to make it through both parties without introducing Andrew to anyone. Unfortunately that meant I didn't greet or thank the hosts, but the tradeoff seemed reasonable, even for someone as hung up on etiquette as I am. The parade was a blur. A couple of times I thought about edging away and getting lost in the crowd, but that just seemed too cruel, despite the seemingly endless Jewish jokes and that nails-on-blackboard accent.
I finally came up with an alibi to cut the evening short: my dog, the shoe-eating Harley. Of course! I had to get back and walk him! It had been a whole...two hours! He could NEVER go that long without a walk. (The fact that I had a full-time job and was gone for 10 or more hours at a time wouldn't cross Andrew's mind, would it? Oh, at this point who cared!) I was looking forward to never seeing him again. As the New Yorker cartoon says, "How about never? Does never work for you?"
The plan backfired somewhat when Andrew insisted on going with me and Harley to Union Square Park. "What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't escort the lady on All Hallows Eve?" was how I believe he put it. I protested, but that old Jew sure was persistent and I gave in. After all, I knew his sister, and that had to count for something.
As we walked to the park I was almost lighthearted. I could see that the night would not in fact be the bottomless chasm I had previously envisioned. It would actually end at some point, although certainly not soon enough. We watched Harley do his business--always a fun way to end a date--and returned to my building without incident. I said goodbye downstairs, declining his repeated offers to "come up and see me some time." And so, finally, he walked away, telling me, "Hey babe, no promises."
Originally published October 29, 2007.
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