The other night I dreamed that I was talking to Carol Burnett at a cocktail party. �I think I�m going to be Miss Hannigan for Halloween,� I told her. �That�s a character I can really relate to.�
At least I�m not dripping with little girls.
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Saturday night I went to a party populated mainly by lesbians, who taught me how to do the lesbian grind. (�Put your pelvis into it, Hayden! There you go!�) There was also a bonfire with guitar sing-a-long, followed by a late night dance party. It�s been a while since I was at a gathering that devolved into a disco dance party, and it felt very good.
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Yesterday we went pumpkin-hunting, touring farms in the countryside. I like everything about pumpkins, including the word �pumpkin,� so I was pretty excited. We pushed wheelbarrows around, and went on a hayride, and ate fresh roasted corn on the cob, and went through a hay maze, and bought pumpkin butter. I�ve never had pumpkin butter before but it can�t be bad. I approve of all pumpkin products.
It was a picture-perfect autumn day, and I took home a couple of good specimens�a short, fat white one (or �ghost� pumpkin, as we in the know like to call them), and a tall, skinny orange one. I�m going to put them both in my windowsill and they are going to be very, very scary.
I�ve been feeling a little bit yucky lately, physically and otherwise. But I apparently don�t have any problems that pumpkins can�t solve, so everything must be going pretty well.
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