Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Weekend Wrap Up: Rednecks and Ghost Stories

Happy belated Halloween everybody!!

I hope it was spooktacular to whatever degree in which you are most comfortable!  My Halloween was a tad less than thrilling this year.  There was some felting, I cleaned out a closet, saw a few trick-or-treaters walk by, ventured out into a downtown establishment where I played the mental game of "is that wart real or fake?", and then snuggled into bed with Oliver and Matlock.

Edge-of-your-seat kind of stuff.

But that's what most people expect when Halloween falls on a stinkin' Monday.

Now, my Halloween weekend?  That was fun.

Thirty minutes of it, to be exact.

My sister Kimberlie and I have a standing date at the Double M Haunted Hayride every October.  There's a field, a tractor, some hay and mayhem.  I wouldn't call it knock-yer-socks-off (or as my friends to the south say: I wouldn't want to slap my mama) but a good time, nonetheless.

Our ritual: we meet at my apartment, laugh about how many layers we're wearing (3 pairs of pants this year, a record), make scream faces for the camera, and giggle all the way to the farm.  We had an extra this year, Kimberlie's friend Logan who proved to be a good fit in our night of shenanigans.

Shenanigans that started the second we sat down on that flat-bed.

"'OMG I'm at the Haunted Hayride!!' Now as soon as you're done texting your BFF put your cell phone in a zippered pocket!"

Jolly security guards, priceless.

"I just soaked through ALL layers of my pants."

It was snowing, by the way, and the hay was wet.  We did not pee our pants prior to the hayride.

Or during, actually.  To clarify further.

So we ride around.  Dead bodies jumped out at us, zombie school children followed us around, we even saw the headless horseman:

"Awwww, can I pet the horse?"


Being oh-so-slightly wound, I jumped at the slightest movement.  I also screamed loudly.  My whole body is still sore from the tension that came from knowing something was going to jump out at me and force me to scream right in my neighbor's ear.

It's one of those reflexes I just cannot control.

But all of that is plain fun!  I love being scared, one night a year.

In the last part of our hayride we encountered a redneck village full of dilapidated trailers and cannibal toothless wonders.  Men in overalls and flannel ran out of their homes screaming at us, and some even followed our tractor!

One of these bufoons startled Logan and she screamed.

Logan: "I'm sorry!"

Kimberlie: "Did you just apologize for screaming?"

Redneck:  "It's because she farted."

Everyone within earshot: "Hahaha!"

Redneck: "Hey...(to the person leading our group) be careful, this one right here FARTED."

After we de-tractored I heard a few people whispering:

"That's the girl who farted."

Poor Logan.

But all fart jokes aside, this year's adventure was my favorite.

The rest of the night include a haunted house, ice cream and enough of The Shining to reach and exceed my creep tolerance, about an hour and a half.

And now I'm set until next year.

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