|candy! it means candy!|
If I went door-to-door asking for candy, I'd probably get either life-choice advice, seriously judged, or alcohol.
|or possibly drunken, judgmental, alcohol-drenched advice. complete with more alcohol.|
|none of these things are even remotely sexy. or clever. seriously, sexy Nemo? since when are fish sexy?|
never, that's when.
|yep. I know.|
Yeah, that's right. I wanted to be an inanimate object, a piece of fruit. In day care that year, for show-and-tell one day, we acted out our Halloween costumes. Everyone else got up in front of the class and meowed, or barked, or at least acted shit out. I got up there, curled up into a ball on the floor, and didn't move for the next ten minutes while my classmates shouted increasingly desperate guesses like "A rock!" or "A pumpkin!" Strangely enough, nobody guessed raspberry.
The same year, my little sister was an ice princess. She found this beautiful white dress at the thrift store, dripping with lace and glitter. She had a crown, and a wand, and she might even have had matching white shoes.
|I'll give you a hint. I looked nothing like this.|
For those not intimately familiar with the geography of the south-east corner of Utah, Hanksville is a very small town between Canyonlands National Park and Capitol Reef National Park. Because our family would often go on long camping trips down in that area in the dreary fall and winter months, there were a couple times when we were gone for Halloween.
And so it was that we discovered Hanksville. Hanksville is too small to have much of a trick-or-treating scene (Wikipedia estimates its population to be around 200 people), so instead the locals gather at a local gymnasium, parking vehicles in the parking lot. Inside the gym, there are lots of kid-friendly games, including costume contests, carnival style games, and the timeless classic of Throw-the-Shoe-at-the-Rat.
|must... have... more... PIE|
|something like this.|
Out in the parking lot, everyone would flop down their tailgates, or pop open trunks, set up some lawn chairs, and then the kids would troupe from vehicle to vehicle, gathering candy. There was also probably country music playing loudly from more than one F-350.
One of the years we went (probably the first year) we were ill-prepared for such an adventure, and instead of handing out sweet, sweet sugar rushes wrapped in colorful packaging, we handed out granola bars.
|I'm pretty sure it was these ones. man, those crumbs get fuckin' everywhere!|
Later Lander trick-or-treating years consisted of a large group of friends. Our parents had all known each other since we were in diapers, which meant we'd all known each other for pretty much our whole lives. We'd all gather at the Milo-Kink's (that would be a hybridization of two last names, neither of which are spell-able) house, and there would be a kid's table and an adult's table. Having never in my life voluntarily sat at an "adult's table," I couldn't really tell you what went on over there, but our table (the better table) there were always Halloween-themed snacks, like smoking punch, ants on a log, and crackers shaped like fingers.
|like this. mmm, fingers.|
|just ignore the watermark... also, that kid in the front looks excited, but don't be fooled. he's really thinking "wow, all I get is that shitty sucker? definitely TP-ing this house. now who's the sucker, muthafucka?|
|but Dots suck. seriously. nasty.|
There's always candy somebody likes, that somebody else doesn't. So, you trade. It would get pretty heated, let me tell you.
Finally, the parents would tell us it was time to go, and you'd get to lug your bag of primo, optimum loot home, clutched tightly to your chest so your mom wouldn't steal all of your Reese's.
|because seriously, this shit is like crack to my mother.|
This year, I think I'll be a My Little Pony.
|because I'm awesome.|