Morning: No idea...slept straight through. Prince Charming could have been singing outside my window, tossing boulders at my house, and I wouldn't have heard a thing. Zzzzzzzz.
Wake-Up: ARGH! What in the name of Halloween is that banging?!?!? Loud--I mean--loud banging. Dear God! Must grab something to defend myself. Ah, perfect: my trusty hair comb and umbrella. (upon reflection, not the best self-defense tools of the trade, but when bleary-eyed and groggy, you go with whatever looks like something you can fling, jab, or flail). My heart pounding, I tiptoed down the stairs, carefully rounding each corner like a slinky cat...in hot pink slippers. Nothing. Everything was absolutely still. Suppose it could have been a neighbor, but the banging sounded like it was inside the house. Odd.
Lunch and Some Myths: "I heard banging in the house, but when I checked, nothing was there," I said to my mom over a baked potato, salad, and milk (no soda--excellent me!).
"Hmm, well maybe you heard a spirit," she said in all seriousness. She does love Halloween.
"Um, what?" She takes this Halloween thing a bit too far sometimes.
"You know, they say virgins and children are more susceptible to sounds and voices from the other side."
Way too far.
Although, this isn't the first time I've heard of this myth and, with hand on heart, I can honestly say I have had my fair share of unexplainable events (one involving my papaw). It's all a little difficult to explain, but I tend to believe in the paranormal. I do like Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures--fun shows. I fully intend to watch Ghost Hunters Live tonight.
"Why virgins do you think?" I asked my mom.
"Well, I would think it's because virgins have less of life's scarring and are more open-minded to things."
Why do moms always say things in a manner that makes complete and total sense out of something totally incomprehensible? Hmm. It's all very intriguing. Maybe this is my calling. Maybe I'm to be a world-renowned medium and can interview famous spirits about their first sexual encounters. Uh, um...oooh, maybe I can roam heaven's citizens for my "dead" soul mate. Err. Maybe not.
Late Afternoon and Evening: Cowboys lost...again...to Jacksonville. Pathetic. We are now 1-6. It's almost getting comical, like playing connect-the-dots to see what picture you will get. Right now, I'm getting a picture of a giant horse's a**. Wonder what it will be by the end of the season...oh, wait, it is the end of the season.
Dale Earnhardt Jr: Oh, God, it just gets worse. I love watching him drive in restrictor plate races--he's like Maverick, You Big Stud (Top Gun, for those unfamiliar), especially in these races...fun to watch and you marvel over the man's technique. Today, at Talladega, Dale was driving masterfully; he had a fast car; he led laps...then, all heck broke loose. He got into Jeff Burton a little too hard and....you guessed it: wreck. Dale's chances of winning? None. Day over. So sad. Just sucks for him...want to see him back in winner's circle.
It was one of those racing deals. Dale felt terrible, blaming himself for the incident. Honestly, when I see some drivers give interviews (or run away from them) and have zero accountability, it makes me proud to cheer for Dale--he's all man.
Night: Watching Ghost Hunters LIVE on SyFy. Fun stuff.
Oh, Lord, I'm about to find out everything...married, not married, married, not married. What do I want to hear? Would it even change anything? No, it wouldn't...it couldn't. My friends used to say it's written in the stars. If true, why have the stars been buried in clouds all these years?
BFF: "We suck. We suck bad. It's over. We're going 1-15. We're the worst team in the NFL."
Time for a BFF rant on the Cowboys.
Late Night: After diagnosing the Cowboys and answering some e-mails, I finished watching Ghost Hunters Live (no major ghosts found), ate some candy corn (very wrong), drank some soda (really must stop), and decided to solve two of the world's major problems (much better use of time). It's unfortunate my mind has been preoccupied with more pressing matters...like whether I prefer the caviar shampoo sample I received to Pantene, my old standby (don't think I prefer said sample). Hmm. Not a great use of my time.
I blame the Cowboys...and my toilet. It all started with toilet toes.
Oh, and the Texas Rangers lost. Gotta tell ya, I'm just hitting it out of the ballpark this year, aren't I? If this is any indication of what's to come when pesky-pissy-pricky phone decides to ring, then I may need to consider massive quantities of Advil...and Pepto-Bismol.