November! And, what happened to our pumpkins.

Well, classes are in full swing and I'm is back to being productive.  I wound up doing a last minute change of my life and switching up half the classes I was in, but I've got it all worked out and everything is good.  Aztec is interesting, Swedish takes place at an ungodly early hour, and for my Africa class, I have to do a presentation on, wait for it--Kony 2012.  The fact that I wrote a really long paper on this last semester makes my life that much easier; the fact that I have to do this presentation in tandem with a random girl I do not know does not.  Meh.  Back to life.  I also decided to be kind to myself and take a single class in English (I deserve it, dammit), and it's really nice to not lose the thread of the discussion if I tune out for more than a minute.  I'm also the only person in another one of my classes.  Under normal circumstances, the class would probably get canned, but since the professor is my advisor, it'll all work out anyway.

Other things that are fun!  I finally started riding regularly at the barn, and had a lesson yesterday--it was great!  I also started my job today, which I am retardedly excited about and thankful for.  From what I can tell, I have to do a lot of copying things, but all the things I have to copy are pretty interesting.  So I read with one hand and copy with the other.  Living on the edge, you know.

In the world of entertainment, the Gypsy kids in the building across from me are proving to be the continual winners.  The other night as I went to light up the pumpkins out front, I noticed that one had been stolen.

Farewell, bicycle-face.  You served us well.

A little sad, I went about lighting the survivors--and you know the adage "like moths to a flame?"  Incorrect.  It should be "like small Gypsy children to a flame," because I was surrounded the second I pulled the lighter out of my pocket.  Five different children each insisted on lighting  a candle (or "accidentally" blowing one out so they could re-light it, as the situation required), while others yelled at me that they knew who had taken the bicycle-face and could they have the ones that were left?  No, I explained, if you take them then nobody can enjoy them.

"But what will you do with them tomorrow?"
"Light them up."
"And the day after?"
"Probably throw them out, they'll have started to go rotten by then."
"PLEASE DON'T THROW IT OUT, WE WILL TAKE YOUR PUMPKINS."
"You can't take the pumpkins, they'll be moldy and soft and make gassy noises when you poke them."
"OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE."
"No.  I am throwing the pumpkins out."
"Can we have them now then?"
"Please do not steal my pumpkins."
"WE CAN TAKE THEM!"
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."

This somehow resulted in a very long discussion about pumpkin ethics, namely, whether the passing of that special day made the pumpkins on your stoop fair game. When was Halloween, they wanted to know? Wednesday, I said.  This was Saturday.

Tuesday evening the doorbell rang.  Thinking it was a friend, I buzzed him in and went downstairs to meet him.  Not friend.  Actually a horde of small children holding bags.

"Hello Tina!  Halloween is today!"
"It's tomorrow, dears."
"IT IS NOT, IT'S TODAY."
"Voices down, my neighbors eat children."
"It is not, it's today"
"Today is Tuesday.  Halloween is tomorrow, the 31st.  Remember, we had this conversation?  And then I asked you not to steal the pumpkins?"
"But someone stole one!  And it's not even past Halloween THAT IS NOT FAIR!"
"What?  I haven't thrown those things out yet?"

I went down to see, and sure enough, creepy Estonian pumpkin was gone.  But I looked around anyway, checking in the bushes and behind the trashcan.  You know, just in case creepy Estonian pumpkin was hiding.  He wasn't.

At that point I got a good long look at the surviving pumpkins, witch pumpkin and raven pumpkin-- neither of which were doing particularly well, both of which had been left out long past their last vestiges of autumnal dignity had shriveled up and been chewed on by stray cats.  The weird back-and-forth weather had taken it's toll: witch pumpkin needed Botox, and raven pumpkin looked like a heap of dead.  If I hadn't known better, I would have put rough 50/50 odds on the fact that it had ever been a pumpkin.

"Oh man," said I, poking the pumpkins with my shoe.  "Look at this mess.  This shit is sucking at my soles.  I think these pumpkins have got to go."

The Gypsy children panicked.

"NO NO NO DON'T DO THAT, WE WILL TAKE YOUR PUMPKINS."
"They're starting to smell like dead people."
"OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE WE WILL TAKE THE PUMPKINS."
"Your mother will have me arrested for assault with a stinky vegetable.  On principle."
"PUUUMMMMPPKINPUUUMMMMPKINPUUUMMMPKINPLEEEEEASE."
"You mean you show up looking for candy, and you're content to take rotten vegetables with you instead?"
"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE."
"Oh for the love of God, take the moldy pumpkins.  It'll save me a trip up the stairs to get a trash bag."

And that is the story of how half our pumpkins were stolen and half were given away to small children while in advanced stages of decomposition.

The End.