‘Walking in a Pumpkin Ghetto-land’

Jesus H.

Do yourself a favor and skip Butlers Orchard. Unless you live in Maryland and you’re not the type to say, “I can’t have sex with her — she’s my sister!” (Man, there were some butt-ugly people there. Sheesh)

I can’t believe I put 80 miles on my car for that round-trip fiasco. If you do it, you’ll be singing the holiday song we were singing.

On the plus side, I had a fabulous day out in the sunshine with my friends, but I’m still trying to figure out why on earth I had to pay an admission fee to see one rooster, one pig and eight million Children of the Corn. I can see the latter merely by stepping out onto my balcony. 🙂 (Aside: five families here are getting evicted by Nov. 15 because of their bastardly offspring. Hurrah!)

After the soaring disappointment of the “harvest days” — not to mention the ridiculously lame cornstalk maze that we got through in zero point five seconds, we walked down to the patch, where it was the Land of Pumpkin Innards. Not to mention, but we wouldn’t have had to pay to go into that patch.

So when we picked out our sad pumpkins, I walked back to the top of the hill to bring my car around to get my buddies and our purchases. But I got stopped by the Gestapo guard, who yelled at me, thinking I was trying to sneak into the harvest days festival. I chortled heartily at that. He said I should have gotten my hand stamped if I was there and planning to leave and come back. I said, look, jackass, nobody told me I had to get stamped to have in-and-out privileges at this adventure land. So he kept trying to press my buttons, and he asked if I were planning to go back to the harvest days after I got my car. My response? “Dude, you’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t believe I had to pay $7 to walk through it once — you can guarantee that I won’t further disappoint myself by re-entering that field.” He shot me a dirty look, and I walked away.

Shawn began singing the line in the subject of this post. We had a whole rousing chorus going, but I’m too tired to even think about it.

To add to our misery in Germantown, we attempted to have lunch afterward, but we had to wait so long after we ordered the food that it became dinner. And that fucking state of Maryland doesn’t allow smoking in its restaurants, so you had five smokers, sitting around a table, gnawing on our arms in hunger and nicotine withdrawal. And when Shawn got his food (a chicken dish), the staff had to come back and confiscate it because, well, they kinda forgot something — yeah, like the chicken. What the fuck?!?! Horrible dining endeavor. Just horrible.

I had Shawn drive my car home. I fucking hate 495. I hate 270 just as much. Not that I had much luck on Washington Boulevard this evening, either — some asshole wanted to pass me on the left, even though the only thing on the left was a lane that had just ended. And he had a big old SUV, but I wasn’t nervous. I figured if he’d hit me, well, it would suck but no one in their right mind would try to do what he was doing. Dildo.

We did have a delightful time — snugly returned to our beloved Northern Virginia — at Shawn’s hacienda. Paul and I made apple crisp, I did a fast and furious hot apple cider/toddy kind of disaster, Angie and her husband carved pumpkins (beautifully, I might add!), Bryan made caramel apples, and those of us left standing at the end of the night settled down to watch “The Exorcist.”

Alas, though, the adventures didn’t end with dropping Bryan and Paul off in Arlington. When I got home a few minutes ago, I locked the door behind me, as I usually do. I put food in the cats’ dishes, and then I realized that Kadi wasn’t around my ankles and going apeshit. I looked for her for awhile and then, just on a lark, opened the front door. Her dumb ass had run out between my ankles and she was stuck outside for five minutes. Heh. I was feeling charitable, so I let her in. But I admit to taking a pause before I bothered opening the door. 🙂

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