SO ready for warm weather...

This weekend it's going to be practically 70º in Madrid- woot!!! Bars and cafés had better get their outdoor tables set up!

Ch-ch-check it out: Madrid's 10-day

tuesday morning randomness

• How is it not at least Thursday?

• Joanne might come back to Madrid in June... to stay! Yay America.
  

• While a smidge embarrassing to admit, Britney Spears' newest album is great for the gym. With the exception of a ballad or two which I promptly skip, the beats of practically all of the songs are right on par with my rate on the elliptical: a nice range of 60 to 65.
  

• I don't care how screwed up she is; Amy Winehouse totally rocks. She adds a touch of sultry sass to the mundane nature of my workday.

• No matter how painstakingly careful I am when winding them up, my iPod earphones ALWAYS tangle themselves into knots. Wtf?

• No Movistar, I don't want a cell phone contract. Please stop stalking me.

• 45 days til vacation- Hallelujah!

• How beyond fantastic is the Sarah Silverman / Jimmy Kimmel video duel? HIL.AR.I.OUS.

Her video:


His revenge:

me = idiot

Going to the gym in the morning, when you're still groggy and trying to figure out why the main characters in your dream were dancing forks, inevitably increases the possibility of leaving something behind. Luckily, such items are generally negligible... hence their being forgotten. Salad dressing. Socks. A spoon. Occasionally a bra. When these things are left behind, it's just a hitch. You can make do, even if it means eating dry lettuce for lunch or keeping the gals hidden with a sweatshirt.

Then today happened, when I found myself standing in the gym locker room - showered and otherwise ready to go - in leggings, boots and a tank top. Noticeably absent from my gym bag was the dress meant to go over said leggings.

I had 10 minutes until work, which is 5-10 mins from the gym, and I had to weigh out my options: A) go to work a la Catwoman, or B) scamper the 15 minutes home, put on the dress and then scamper the 20 minutes to work, hoping to make it in by 10. This is all up and down the same long street, mind you. A shop worker said hi to me three - count 'em THREE - times this morning.

In the end, tardiness prevailed over what would likely have been the saddest attempt at a Catwoman costume ever. Interestingly enough, I probably burned up more pesky calories outside of the gym this morning than inside it.

yay yay rah rah

Is it just me or is Hillary Clinton always, always, ALWAYS clapping in pictures taken of her as she campaigns. I personally - and especially when you throw in the over-exaggerated facial expressions - find that it comes across as quite awkward. Like when parents try too hard to act "cool" or when scrawny, acne-prone teenyboppers in the throes of puberty try to break dance. Or rap.

Then again, I bet a hearty dose of self applause does wonders for your self esteem. That way, you know that you've always got at least one cheerleader on your side. Or in the mirror.

... go Obama!

morning encounters

So there's this girl who I see at the gym pretty much every time I manage to drag myself out of bed in the name of physical well-being. I refer to her simply as, well, an abbreviated nickname stemming from a particular part of the female anatomy. It may seem crass, but trust me... it's appropriate. I will explain why. Plus, she's about an 11 on the bitch meter, so I don't feel too bad about it.

Now I'm not a prude; I understand walking to and from the shower naked. It's normal and doesn't bother me in the least. However, while most folks then put some clothes on or at least use a towel post-shower, this particular lass keeps on in the buff for another 20 minutes as she blow-dries her hair, puts on her make-up and goes through the rest of the steps of her a.m. beauty routine.

Then comes the fun part: when she apparently needs to exfoliate her entire body with this coarse loofah of sorts. This involves her - completely naked, mind you - throwing her leg over her head into a position that can only be compared to that of my cat when he is getting ready to lick himself.

a note from frank

So today I get the following email:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Elizabeth,

As Senior Vice President of Holy Cross, I am writing to ask you for some very valuable feedback. Our records indicate that you have not recently made contributions to the College. I am not asking for money at this time; I am merely looking for information. Will you share with us why you do not give?

If you take a moment to let me know why you don't give to Holy Cross, I promise to respond to you personally. We are working to make Holy Cross the top choice for ambitious students eager to discover themselves in an intellectually rigorous, Jesuit, liberal arts environment. We need the support of alumni to make that happen. That is why it is imperative for us understand why some alumni do not give. If you're willing to share that information, I would be very grateful.

Just email me at (email address) with your response, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.

Thank you in advance for sharing your thoughts with me.

Frank ________

Senior Vice President

College of the Holy Cross

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notice the strategically italicized "Will you share with us why you do not give?", as if it were Mother Teresa herself making a heartfelt plea for grain to feed the hungry. In reality, Holy Cross has bazillions of dollars that it invests primarily in schmoozing rich alumni, catering meals for the Jesuits on campus and, of course, plenty o' mulch.

Well, Frank... unfortunately for us all, I'm still looking at 10 years of paying off that intellectually rigorous, Jesuit, liberal arts education. Ask me a decade from now and then maybe we'll chat... perhaps when I have a bit of cash in the bank to complement my valuable intellectual affluence.

major peeeeeve

If there's one thing I dislike about the gym more than my feet falling asleep on the elliptical, it's the obnoxious folks who plant themselves right in front of your machine in the gym and then attempt to will you off the elliptical/treadmill with their raised-browed eye rolls, piercing stares, exaggerated sighs and frenzied toe-tapping.

That's when I generally decide is a good time to test my physical threshold and go for as long as my endurance will keep me conscious, upright and breathing. And then I do a relaxed, very drawn-out cool down. Mwa ha ha.

SUCKAS.

why are sneakers exciting?

I bought new sneakers yesterday, which is always exciting. No, not because I'm a girl and all girls intrinsically love adding new footwear to their collection... ahem, Elaine.

These babies are my first pair of Nikes since I was like 12, when I boycotted them. 'Why?' you may ask? Some would respond that it's because of the exploitation of young'ns in the Chinese work force. Nope, not my reason... though I certainly commend those folks for their noble nature.

It all goes back to when my brother went through his infamous head-to-toe Nike phase, when a typical outfit would feature Nike basketball sneakers, black Nike socks, Nike mesh shorts, a Nike t-shirt, a Nike sweatshirt and of course - the cherry on top of his bowl haircut - a Nike hat. This "phase" lasted for several years, and the over saturation of Nike apparel floating around the house made me shudder at all things swoosh-related. Only yesterday, 13 years later, did I finally break down and invest in a pair of Nike kicks that caught my eye and hugged my feet like little clouds of heaven. And, I must admit, they're pretty rad.

Why is it that buying sneakers excites me so? Well, to begin, anything new is exciting and there's definitely something to be said for the beneficial powers of retail therapy. But secondly, there was always something thrilling about buying new sneakers as kids, when the parentals loaded us up in the family station wagon (hell yeah wood-grain panels!), shuffled us into the local Stride Rite store and deposited us at the feet of some archetypal frumpy store clerk, who then embarked on the tedious process of getting us to stop squirming, measuring our feet, and then testing how much room we had in the various footwear candidates that came through the swinging door.

Eventually we'd narrow down the options, whining our way out of the personal favorites of our parents, and finally select the winning pair of gleaming white sneakers that would make us the masters of all outdoor pursuits. We'd proudly and squeakily wear them out of the store, our dingy and probably ill-fitting ones hidden away like illegitimate children.

We'd get home, anxious to show off our fabulous new high-tops in a game of neighborhood 4-square or tackle football, fully-convinced that with our brand new footwear we could run faster, jump higher, throw stronger and certainly look all sorts of good. We'd open the front door and wave regally to our friends like pint-sized popes greeting the hoards in Saint Peter's Square (otherwise known as our front yard). Just as we'd open our mouths to brag "Hey look at my new..", our mother always appeared out of thin air.

"No, no... those are your 'good' sneakers. Go put your old ones back on to play outside." And in that moment, all the fun was squeezed right out of the situation and our athletic prowess was placed back into the box... to be saved for more appropriate childhood activities that did not entail anything that sneakers are technically designed for.

So to answer the question, I just get excited that I don't have to "save" my new sneakers.

just gettin through the work day...

1. Name someone who can always makes you smile? alfonsito, marky, my familia, dogs

2. What were you doing at 10:00 this morning? moving to our new office... and then trying to make it less hazardous

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago? workin'

4. What did you do last night? slept

5. Did you watch the Super Bowl? sadly, i did not

6. Explain why you last threw up? ill

7. What color is your hair brush? purple, i think?

8. What cell phone company do you use? in the states, cingular... in spain, movistar

9. Have you text voted for an American Idol? hell nah

10. Have you ever run out of gas? touchy subject... aka twice. what can i say, i'm a procrastinator by nature and sometimes it backfires.

11. Hot tea or Iced tea? i like it hot and i like it green

12. What was the weather like today? chilly and cloudy

13. Where did your last hug take place? at work

14. What are you excited for? work ending for the day

15. Ever smoked pot? moi?

16. Closest thing to you that is green? box of green tea bags on my desk

17. Last person you spoke to? fabienne

18. Are you very random? quite

19. Do you want to get your hair cut? i think i'm gonna grow it again

20. Are you over the age of 25? gettin' old... i know

21. Do you talk a lot? nope... only if i'm drunk or hyper

22. Do you watch The O.C.? ew

23. Whats your screename? no, you can't stalk me

24. Will people IM you now that you posted it? see above

25. Do you make up your own words? spanglish does wonders for one's vocabulary..

26. Are you ticklish? don't touch me

27. Do you own rollerblades? somewhere in my mom's basement

28. Are your ears pierced? yup

29. Bar soap or body wash? whatever's in the shower

30. Are you a jealous person? sometimes

31. What brand of shampoo do you use? pantene

32. Do you chew on your straws? not obsessively

33. Do you have curly hair? HA!

34. What is the next concert you are going to? no clue

35. Where did you go today? let's see... old work, new work, bar downstairs for a coffee, back to new work, lunch, back to work. WOO!

36. What 1 item do you always pick up at the grocery store? juice

37. What is something you say a lot? holler

38. Last time you wore panty hose? ugh, i hate the word panty.. shudder

39. Red or White Wine? rouge, si'l vous plait

40. Do you think you are pretty? sometimes

41. What are you doing tonight? i love my will & grace reruns...

42. What was your last missed call? mom

43. What should you be doing right now? work

44. Do you have a nickname? betsey has opened up all sorts of opportunities... betsey-wetsey, buttsey, butts, etc.

45. Are you a heavy sleeper? sometimes

46. What are you listening to? regina spektor

47. What is the best movie you have seen in the past two weeks? juno!

48. Is there anyone you like right now? sure

49. When was the last time you did the dishes? i put dishes in the dishwasher yesterday?

50. Did you cry today? so far so good

51. Do you like Chinese food? some

52. How big is your bed? depends where i am

53. Do you know someone with the same birthday as you? not personally, although according to wikipedia there are quite a few of us

54. Laptop or desktop computer? laptop at home, desktop at work

55. How many pictures are hanging in the room you are in? zippo

56. Red Sox or Yankees? red sox, duh

57. Does anyone like you? hopefully not everyone hates me, put it that way

58. Do you collect anything? junk

59. Do you bite your nails? only in moments of stress

60. How many megapixels is your digital camera? i forget

61. Last time you went on a date? do people still call them dates?

62. How many times have you been pulled over by the police? perfect driving record suckaaas

63. Pancakes or French Toast? pancakes

64. What is on your mouse pad? don't have one

65. At what temperature do you put on a jacket? now that i have the cold tolerance of a 90 year old floridian, i'm always cold. how things have changed since i used to go entire winters without wearing a coat...

66. Do You Like Coffee? we have a very intimate relationship

67. How big is your largest television set? um? whichever it is it sure ain't mine

68. Do you know anyone in the military? yep

69. Do you have a globe in your house? maybe somewhere in my dad's basement?

70. Number of pillows you sleep with? 1 or 2

71. Do you make scrapbooks? i did in high school

72. Could you live without a computer? prob not

73. What are you wearing right now? jeans and a yellow shirt. tres interessant

74. What type of watch do you wear? don't wear one

75. Do you prefer Tile or Hardwood Floors? i guess hardwood?

76. Can you play pool? i have strangely good luck for being a shitty pool player

77. Last time you swam in a pool? not too sure

78. Are your nails manicured? never

79. Do you like maps? i LOVE google maps...

80. Tell me a random fact: i spent a long time wanting to be a dolphin trainer and work at sea world

81. Ever have surgery? negative

82. What celebrity do people say you look like? if i DO ook like someone, i hope it's at least a female...

83. What age were your parents when they got married? like 23... YIKESABEE

84. Favorite TV show? 30 rock & arrested development (never gets old)

85. Does your phone have a camera? yup

86. Favorite flavor of ice cream? moosetracks, cookie dough

87. Have you been to Times Square? several times

88. Who will you vote for in the 2008 Presidential Election? i am what can be defined as obsessed with barack obama

89. How many cars have you owned? actually "owned"? zippo

90. Does your car have a bumper sticker on it what is it? no car

91. Favorite quiz on QuizPox.com ? no idea what that is

92. Do you know anyone that is pregnant? too many for my liking... some chicks have already hatched

93. Last time you laughed at something stupid? like 5 mins ago

94. What time did you wake up this morning? well, i GOT up around 8:30... woke up every 9 minutes between 7:30 and 8:30 (thank you snooze alarm)

95. Wake up next to anyone this morning? the normal entourage... just a few male prostitutes and a pair of goats

96. Best thing about winter? fireplaces

97. Worst thing about winter? cold, lack of outdoor cafés

98. Do you have siblings? 3

99. Name a couple of favorite colors? green, red

100. What are you doing this weekend? sleeping and maybe a bar crawl?

new discovery

Dark chocolate KitKats. Edible heaven.

On a less fat side note, we're now 2 for 2 this week re: gym attendance. I deserved an effing KitKat :D

she just can’t be bothered

While delicious and free, two weeks of big American breakfasts, all the peanut butter products under the sun and the best gosh darn donut place in the world have done their damage. She's noticing the, ahem, “snug” fit of her clothing and she feels about two candy bars away from donning a muumuu and losing all definition between her chin and my neck. She dreads that moment when gravity does its thing and turns what was once a right angle into its hypotenuse, thus connecting her chin directly to her collarbones. And yet... she has failed to get back to the pre-work gym routine that she had gotten pretty good at and was shockingly even quite fond of. Instead, the sweet bliss of sleep, safe and snug in the refuge of her down comforter, has prevailed thus far.

"Meh… maybe this week" she shrugs, as she glances guiltily at the awaiting gym bag at her feet.

Whenever I’m assigned at work to do a travel guide, I end up contracting a severe case of the infectious travel bug. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, and you spend all your time at work thinking about when and how you could jet off to all the destinations that run through your mind. And then you dream of being a rich retired person or at the very least a jet-setting lottery winner who can just pick up and spend a year just traveling. I would be in my g-l-o-r-y.

Over the past six months I’ve been moved up a few notches in the company hierarchy... which means I don't work much anymore on the more interesting and creative promotional websites (city guides, etc.) Instead I get to work on the company’s commercial websites (course descriptions, text for informational brochures, company descriptions, etc.) and haven’t written a single travel guide since then. Now, however, I’m 25 pages into a guide about Pamplona (our company just bought a school there and needs to promote it) and, along with brushing the dust off of my adjective bank and revving up my creative wit, I am struck with "the bug"... and oh is it ever back with a vengeance.

So I present my “to be visited at some point in life” wish list:

Outside of Spain:
Ireland, Ireland, Ireland
Prague
Lisbon
Berlin; Germany in general
Finland (mainly to see the aurora borealis)

In Spain:
Cuenca
Bilbao & Basque Country in general
Cantabrian coastline
Pamplona
Pyrenees
León

In the US:
Chicago
Austin
Niagara Falls
Grand Canyon
Seattle
Denver

Maybe in 2008 I’ll even check a couple of them off!

Winged demons

I don’t care how stupid people think I am for it. I am absolutely, positively, 150% terrified of birds. Well, not all birds. Canaries, cardinals, robins and their fellow birds of the hopping kind are all okay in my book, and who doesn’t let out a little sigh of delighted wonder upon seeing a hummingbird flitting around on a sunny afternoon.

Pigeons, however, are a much different story. There’s nothing cute, melodic or even mildly pleasant about them. They’re ugly and gray. And dirty. Unpredictable. Sly and greedy. And usually missing toes. Also falling under the “not ok” list are owls, hawks and other birds of prey whose TALONS could easily fit around my head and whisk me away to their nest, where their equally vicious babies would probably use me as their new chew toy. If I’m going to be whisked away to a remote destination, I’d much rather it be for vacation, play or romance than to be the
special du jour, thank you very much.

Maybe it’s because urban pigeons don’t fear humans and will dive right at your face without breaking a sweat. Maybe it’s because they sit side by side along an entire ledge of a building… staring at passers-by like beaked Mona Lisas. Maybe it’s because I saw “The Birds” when I was clearly much too young – age 14 - for that startling degree of horror. Maybe it’s even because in a former life I was a small woodland creature that met its end upon being picked off by a circling owl. I don't know- could be anything, really.

What I DO know, however, is that as I walk the city streets of Madrid, those beady little pigeon eyes stare at me.

(Picture description: As we ate breakfast at an outdoor eatery in Granada, the lovely patrons at the neighboring table started throwing food down for the birds and in the blink of an eye no less than 30 pigeons were flapping their wings in my hair and playing bumper cars with my feet as they scavenged for the morsels. I look deceivingly look happy in the photo, but I was actually laughing nervously as I wiped tears and huddled in my seat. The picture was taken when I actually almost started to cry. My friends are obviously sympathetic to my dilemma.)

thoughts of a judgemental globe-trotter

(Written 12/24/07, found and posted today)

Thoughts from Madrid: In an age when airlines are supposedly trying to deter the induction of new members to the internationally-recognized Mile High Club, why would airport stores in departure areas sell approximately 8 different varieties (brands, sizes, tastes, etc.) of condoms? Isn’t that kind of asking – nay, demanding – that people let their hormones run rampant between dinner and the in-flight movie?

Thoughts from Paree: For being the supposed fashion capital of the world, a surprisingly high percentage of travelers passing through Paris (well, the airport) seem to open their closets to decide what to wear and somehow - perhaps having been struck by temporary blindness - reach the conclusion that Crocs are the way to go. Unfortunate.

Christmas II: the best conversation starter ever

Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Betsey. Oh, you recognize my voice? Ha ha, I get that a lot this time of year. I'm somewhat of a celebrity come the holidays. Maybe you have heard me on the radio? Why yes I AM the voice of Dominic the Italian Christmas Donkey! Good job! Here, this one's just for you: "Ee-ahh, ee-ahh"

Christmas

Despite how obscenely commercial Christmas is, I love every bit of it: the bright colors, the flamboyant lights, the music, the constant eating and drinking. It’s like Las Vegas goes on tour once a year and hits small-town America. Thank jeebus it leaves la Celine in all of her Canadian glory behind. Gag. Aside from a Celine Dion holiday album, nothing can chip away at my holiday glee. Not even the annual crew of over-zealous Jesus fanatics, who along with the Nazi priest who actually forbade us from saying "Happy Holidays" (incidentally the same priest who actually yelled at me with his fist in the air for wondering aloud about reincarnation in my CCD class) come out of the woodwork to drone on about Christmas losing its original meaning.

Christmas has yet to lose its special feel, even though we’re quite obviously no longer a pack of rugrats. Newer traditions (drinking, Mrs. Guarraia’s cheesecakes, Cortylandia) intertwine with the oldest ones, but the basics are still in place. It’s about being with your family. Rousing up a good fire in the fireplace. The Boston Pops and waging battles with wadded-up balls of wrapping paper. Flannel pajamas, giggles and surprises. Hopes for snow on Christmas morning. Pancakes and scavenging for batteries. That unexpected something in the very toe of your stocking that you didn’t come across before. The nostalgia for the days when Santa Claus still weighed out the year’s deeds and (hopefully) determined that you had indeed been more nice than naughty.

My cumulative vision of Christmas when we were children looks like something plucked right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. The Christmas tree stood in the corner, its strands of tiny bulbs blinking red, orange, green and blue weaving festively through the ornaments. We made sure to set out cookies and a tall glass of milk for Santa, along with enough carrots to fuel the whole gang of reindeer through the rest of their round-the-globe night.

Night would fall on Christmas Eve, and our parents would try to hustle us to bed with the classic “Santa won’t come if you’re not asleep” threat; this is not helpful, however, when you’re a seven-year old insomniac. Instead of struggling to stay awake to see what happened, I remember actually throwing myself into a sheer panic fearing that Santa Claus would know I was awake and skip on to the next house.

In the end, it'd all go off without a hitch, and come Christmas morning we’d be up before the sun was. Partly because we were early risers in our youth, but mostly because I’d feel a presence, open my eyes, and see my sister’s eyeballs no more than one inch from my face. She’s now 21 and has yet to relinquish her role as the Christmas Day family alarm clock. Once she managed to successfully awaken her first victim (me, since my room was the closest), she then sprang into full-speed action, bouncing up and down and off the walls like a super ball. My sister is also the one person who shot into super ball mode not only opening her own presents, but when everyone else was opening theirs.

Once we recruited my brother, we’d take on the task of getting our parents up. After spending long and torturous minutes poking and prodding our parents as if they were lethargic cattle, they'd finally groan awake and we'd give our first cheer of victory. We’d race to the top of the stairs, wriggling around in gut-wrenching agony which was only compounded when we realized our dad had full intentions of taking a shower (and his sweet time).

So we'd listen to the shower run, the three of us sitting side-by-side on the very top step. We weren't allowed to go downstairs, of course, until our parents gave us the green light... at which point we'd take off at speeds rivaling the Indy 500. The one time my brother crept silently down the stairs to take a peek around the corner before my parents came out of their room, my sister and I sat in breathless fear until he safely returned and whispered, his blue eyes huge in awe, "he came!"

Finally, the parents, freshly showered and yet back in their pajamas for the sake of the pictures (when every opened present was followed by "ok, now hold it up" and a flash), would slowly emerge from their bedroom as if they were ethereal beings gracing us with their presence. My sister, still bouncing, would squeal “Can we go down yet?” and before we even heard an answer we would be scrambling down the stairs and sliding across tile floors until we reached the family room.

To our delight, the carrots had always been nibbled, the milk was always gone but for a few drops, and just a few crumbs were sprinkled on the plate where the cookies had once sat. Some years, Santa would leave behind one half-bitten Oreo, and we’d marvel at it as if it were the freakin’ holy grail.

So while we're no longer kids and we now know that our parents - and now we, as well - suffer through daunting credit card bills, Christmas is still Christmas. Plus, our presents are still signed "from Santa".

5 work necessities of today's modern age

... by a semi-disgruntled worker

Caffeine
Between coffee, diet coke and an occasional tea, my intake of various caffeine-infused libations essentially sets the structure for each work day. For example, 11:45am means time for a 1/2-hour coffee at the bar downstairs. If it's the start of the day and you don't yet see a mug of steaming energy in my hands, don't even think about asking me to get elbow-deep in html code, repetitive price tables and commercial writing jam-packed with enthusiasm, cheesy adjectives and an obscene amount of exclamation marks.

Post-its
While I have spent a lifetime practicing the art of writing notes on my hands, post-it notes bring all sorts of joy to my life. Even when we were young'ns playing office, the best parts were easily: 1) speaker-phoning each other, 2) ignoring the phrase "no, don't touch that", and 3) rummaging through my dad's supply closet and swiping legal pads, pens and post-its. At work, post-its literally frame my computer screen and part of the wall. Plus, making bulleted lists in pretty colors gives me a false feeling of productivity.

Snacks
Here at my job, we eat our feelings. Stress, boredom, frustration... all roads lead to cookies.

Facebook
What better way to procrastinate than by compulsively clicking refresh to see who, in the past 45 seconds, a) has gotten hitched, b) has broken up, c) has popped out a few puppies, d) blacked out last weekend, e) has posted new pictures, f) has changed jobs, g) has joined facebook... and so on and so forth. It's essential that I know, since we are clearly so intimately close that I don't know first-hand.

Sense of humor
That way, when wintry days arise in which neither the heat nor the internet work (kind of important, when you work in the company's internet department), you can just say 'hey, if penguins have no need for heat or functioning technology, neither do I.' Rad.

Idiot of the day

9:25am. A middle-aged woman slowly limps her way down the sidewalk. She leans heavily on a cane with each step she takes... yet she wears 4" stiletto heels.

Spanish women's obsession with heels hits a new - and potentially dangerous - high.

Aranjuez, Spain

halloweenies

With newspaper spread over the entire floor, the coffee table pushed to the side, three different knives and spoons of various sizes... we carved the best jack-o-lantern EVER. For the record, Alfonso was an excellent first-time scooper.











Despite the sad and inevitable day each year when the local Dairy Queen would close for winter, I have always loved fall and everything that it entailed. Picking out pumpkins. Leaves in deep shades of red and orange. Apple-picking and haunted hay rides at the town's orchards. Chilly walks and running from the frigid waves at the beach. Cider. Brand-new fleece jackets. Lighting the fire in the fireplace for the first time of the season. Launching ourselves, kamikaze-style and giggling, into giant piles of fallen leaves... much to the dismay of a certain dad who may or may not have just spent hours raking all the leaves in the yard into orderly piles to be bagged up and discarded.

Fall, of course, culminated in the biggest event of the season: Halloween. When I was growing up it was FANTASTIC. I think it's what led to the chocolate binges that I still succumb to from time to time... well, replace "from time to time" with "on a daily basis." I don't know until what age I trick-or-treated, but it was probably pushing that limit when adults open the door and think to themselves, "hmm, aren't we a little old for this?"

Our little pint-size posse - the Matternlets and the Walkerlets - would always meet up first for pictures at the request/ demand of our camera-toting mothers who would somehow each manage to use up three whole rolls of film on a mere six costume-clad kids. We have envelopes upon envelopes jam-packed with snapshots of smiling superheroes, angels, clowns and cats, all of us armed with our pillow cases and pumpkin buckets and with a clear mission ahead of us: sugar.

The best years were the ones in which, after the picture-taking frenzy finally wrapped up, we managed to coerce one of our dads into pulling us around from house to house, us crammed into a wagon hitched up to the back of a tractor and sticking our tongues out as we passed the neighborhood kids who had to trick-or-treat on foot, while the moms stayed behind to hold down the fort and shower the arriving princesses, monsters and devils with ooh's, ahh's and candy. To this day my mom still lives for Halloween, her jack-o-lantern lit in the front window hours in advance, a big bowl of candy waiting in the foyer and a pen and piece of paper set out to keep a tally of the number of kids who come to the door. I will bet money that she'll give me the official 2007 stats during our next phone call.

Once we made it to the very last house on Village Drive, a route which at the time seemed to last for hours and hours, we piled back into the wagon - our once-empty sacks and buckets now bulging with sweets - for the voyage back to our respective houses. This is when - well, in our house at least - the business part of the evening commenced.

My brother, my sister and I would each rip off our costumes and claim a separate parcel of the family room carpet, where we then conducted inventory with a surprising degree of organization and formality. This is also when we'd find out that there were really cool neighbors (the ones who handed out king-size chocolate bars) and very, VERY uncool ones (the neighborhood grinch up the street who insisted on handing out free samples of toothpaste each year).

Candy was sorted into their respective piles and rows. KitKats lined up side-by-side. Packs of Bubbalicious gum. Ring pops and Skittles. Tootsie rolls, M&M's and gummy bears. Then there was of course the designated "junk" pile, where things like Sugar Daddy's, little boxes of raisins and the annual tubes of toothpaste were quickly discarded. This was subsequently also the pile we allowed our parents to choose from.

We'd spend at least a half hour with our stern business faces on, bartering our candy and trading with each other, our energetic negotiations fueled by a steady consumption of one of everything. The family room quickly turned into a microcosm of the New York Stock Exchange trading floor. One Snickers bar for 2 tootsie pops. Three bags of Skittles and one of Sour Patch kids for that king size Hershey bar. I imagine it must have been quite the eyebrow-raising spectacle for our parents.

Once the trades were complete and we began to come down from our sugar-induced highs, we'd place the candy back into our buckets, which were then placed on top of the refrigerator. However, I'm relatively certain that once we were all tucked into bed with stomach aches, sticky hands and traces of paint still on our faces, our parents would sneak our pumpkins down from their high perches... and deviate from the junk piles we so graciously gave them.