Pumpkin Carving Contest!

It's that time of year again! Welcome to our annual pumpkin carving contest, the new reality blog brought to you by the makers of canned pumpkin. Ummm Ummm Good.

This year's entries, lovingly created and prepared for your enjoyment, are titled as follows:

Entry #1: The American Taxpayer's Horror - now playing in Congress.

Entry #2: Aftermath of Pumpkin Pie eating contest - A public safety message.

As usual, you pick your favorite, then vote.

And based on some of the smart alek questions we've been getting, here's a brief Q&A to get you familiar with the process:

Q: Do I vote by Entry name or Entry number? 'Cause I'd like to use #1 and #2.

A: You can do either. Just so long as we can easily identify which one you like the best. Stating "I liked the pumpkin" is not specific enough and doesn't do anyone any good. And please, no bathroom humor.

Q: How do I cast my vote?

A: You could try osmosis. Or telekinesis. Or some other form of a 'sis. Or you could just send us an email or reply to this blog. Whatever works best for you. I recommend either the blog or email.

Q: What happens after my vote is cast?

A: Well, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch, travels to your house, and steals all your candy. He then will tell you stories about how he's tormented Charlie Brown all these years by not showing up on schedule. Or, maybe the vote is just recorded in our little book, and your email is erased. Could go either way. I'm not committing at this point.

Q: If I don't vote, will you never speak to me again?

A: Quite possibly. More than likely. Yeah, I'd say the chances are pretty good.

Just remember: One person, one vote. Unless you're from Chicago. Then you can vote as many times as you darn well please (apparently).

And don't worry. Katherine Harris will not be in charge of the voting process, so everything will be tallied correctly.

The polls are open until October 31st.

I'll announce the winner after Halloween. I might even post a photo of the winner doing the happy dance on my next blog. We'll see.

In the meantime, we're wishing everyone a HAPPY HALLOWEENIE! And remember: safety first. You should always volunteer to test the little kid's candy, to make sure it's safe for them. Three chocolate bars for you and one for them is a pretty fair system. Their little bodies can't handle the sugar like ours can. Their parents will thank you.

Cold Season Is Here

Cold season has reared its ugly head early this year, as Big Dave has fallen into the clutches of a good old fashioned cold, complete with scratchy-throat, fever, hacking cough and chest congestion. He's spent the last two days trying to sleep as much as possible, drinking OJ and downing shot glasses of Theraflu, in the hopes of encouraging the germs to move elsewhere. I have to admit, through, he's pretty good when it comes to illness. He doesn't whine, doesn't make me wait on him hand and foot, and I don't have to nag him to take his medicine. What is funny, though, is that he seems to take illness as a personal affront. How dare these germs invade his body. The sheer audacity of an illness to even THINK of trying to attack his immune system.

Me, on the other hand, well... that's different. At the first sign of a sore throat, cough or sore muscles, I'm in bed, with the covers pulled high, whimpering. I mope around the house. I whine (Big Dave says it a cute whine, but a whine nonetheless). I leave a trail of used tissue wherever I go. (Big Dave says that's how he knows where to look for me -- just follow the Puffs Plus with aloe). I complain about feeling like death warmed over. Then Big Dave starts asking 20 questions:
Did you take your Vitamin C? No (blow nose into tissue).

Did you drink some OJ? No. (Sniffle)

Did you take any form of cold medicine? (I say nothing, just stare at him with sad, pathetic, watery eyes)

Did you at least eat some soup? It'll help your throat. Yes, that might help, but I'm too weak to walk to the microwave and heat some up. Could you...??

Here, take some Tylenol. It'll help with your fever. No it won't. Nothing will help except death. After I'm gone, promise me you'll remarry. I won't hold it against you. I just want you to be happy.

In short, I'm not a well behaved sick person. I know this. Big Dave certainly knows this. But since Big Dave is so good, I figure I have to be bad enough for the both of us.

I'm thinking we're a match made in heaven. Don't you agree?

Demanding Felines

This morning my mother pulled up her email and found this message waiting for her:

To Whom It May Concern (aka Nana):

We, the felines, being of unstable minds and fat bodies, are holding the humans (aka Mom and Dad) hostage. We will release them unharmed, but most likely covered in fur, if the following demands are met:

The canine spy (code name: Koda) must go. We have been tormented by this traitor for far too long. He eats our food, he tramples us when he gets excited, and he gets too much attention from the humans. He barks at invisible things. He is afraid of thunder. He is a coward, and we refuse to be under his oversized paw any longer. Down with the dog!

We must have ample quantities of gourmet canned cat food. No longer will we be forced to endure the healthy Science Diet dry food. The humans insist it’s for our own good, but we don’t believe it. It’s a household conspiracy that must end. Let us eat Salmon Supreme!

Catnip is a right, not a treat. Let’s not be so stingy with the ‘nip.

We shall have the right to claim all beds as our own. No more sharing with the humans. All soft blankets, pillows and other comfortable items shall be our private property, and cannot be used by the humans or the canine without our express permission. Which we will never give.

Warm laps must be provided to us at all times. The bigger the lap, the better.

We shall never be discouraged from exploring snug spaces or dark corners. This includes closets, under beds, and all rooms previously off limits.

When we see a spider, scorpion or other dangerous insect, we shall have the right to give chase, capture and torment the invader. Taking it away before we are finished is very un-sportsmanlike and will no longer be tolerated.

We reserve the right to curl up on laptops and other sensitive computer equipment, even if the humans are still working with them. Especially if the humans are still working with them.

Affection shall quickly forthcoming in ample quantities. Just because the humans feel they have petted enough doesn’t mean WE feel loved enough.

And lastly,
It’ll never enough. We’ll never be fed enough, loved enough, warm enough, rested enough, admired enough, or worshipped enough. There is no such thing as “too much.” Just keep giving 110%, and we’ll let you know when you need to give more.

These are our demands. If you wish to see the humans again, you will abide by these rules from here on in. If you choose to disregard these items, we will be forced to hock a furball into your favorite shoes. Or eat your favorite plant. Or claw up your curtains. The choice is yours.

Cordially yours,

The Grandcats

Weird Dreams - Part Deux

A while back I wrote a blog about some weird dreams I've had. Well, it seems I've outdone myself, as here is a list of dreams I've had in the last month:

Big Dave is Captain Kirk at the helm of The Black Pearl (from Pirates of the Carribbean),manuvering down busy Manhattan streets. He is reading the billboards from Time Square in Captain Kirk's voice -- "Macy's...Thanks..giving.....DaySale. Going-on..... now!" Needless to say, there will be no more Star Trek viewing in the house for a while.

I'm trapped in a room with three wrapped boxes on a folding table. A voice tells me if I choose the wrong box, I will never leave the room. If I choose the right box, I will never leave the room. Just as I'm about to make my choice, the voice screams, "NOT THAT ONE!" Could it be that the election is just a little too much on my mind right now?

My childhood dog, Waggles, appears at my front door. He is surrounded by a mist. When I call him, he turns away from me and looks into the darkness, like someone is calling him. When I step towards him, he steps away back into the mist. I turn to go back into the house, and he pees on my roses. Think he's trying to tell me something?? : )

I have lunch with John Cusack (my future second husband) in LA. Big Dave is his manager, and tries to get me to convince John to do this new hot movie about the life of frozen peas. But all John wants to do is eat my chicken salad, and he chews with his mouth open. Hmmm.. okay so he may not be husband material after all, but he's just so darn cute!

I'm in labor, and Big Dave is rushing me to the hospital. He pulls the car directly into the hospital lobby, and screams for a doctor. The doctor makes me lie down in the car, then tells me to push. After a minute or two, something pops out. The doctor exclaims, "Congratulations!" and holds up the newest PC game in the Call to Duty series, all gooey and slimey. Big Dave smiles and cries, "It's just what I've always wanted! Thanks, babe!" What's a wife of a game-addict to do?!?!?!

Our house is invaded by spiders, and suddenly John Goodman (ala Arachnaphobia) kicks open our door and proclaims, "This house will be cleansed," and proceeds to wage war against the spiders. When he's done, the house is covered in green slime and he hands me a bill for $10,000. Hero, or worst exterminator ever? You decide.