When pumpkin carving became a chore...

Last night, we finally got around to carving our pumpkins and I just have to ask: When did carving pumpkins become such a stressful, frustrating task? I think the answer might be when I started carving something other than a simple jack-o-lantern face with triangle eyes and a couple crooked teeth. I know I'm a perfectionist, but the excessive amount of anxiety and frustration that has built up the last two years is just ridiculous.

Last year's masterpieces. Rick Grimes and Orioles baseball.

At any rate, we carved away, huffing and puffing between downs of the Redskins-Cowboys game. I still really enjoy scooping the guts out of the pumpkin, but the actual carving part? It's for the birds. Between the two of us, we somehow managed to destroy three carving knives...and by destroy, I mean totally break in half. After I finished my Bengal pumpkin, I helped Wheat with his Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, but when the third knife broke, we threw in the towel. That is why the marshmallow man doesn't have hands, a torso, or legs. Sorry we're not sorry.

I'm not proud of the eyes on that tiger.

Next year, I think I might revert back to my tried-and-true jack-o-lantern face, in hopes of avoiding an actual Halloween massacre.
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We're slowly nearing the end of #Blogtober and I must admit - it will be a relief. It's tough to prepare a post you don't hate every single day. I'll probably hate today's post, but only because it brings back horrible memories.

Unfortunately, I have a multitude of humiliating moments to choose from for this prompt. In fact, my absolute most embarrassing memory is so mortifying that it will stay safely tucked away in the recesses of my mind, in hopes that one day, it will vanish completely. Instead, I'll share another gem with you, the time I took a tumble at Niagara Falls.

When I was about 14, my family took a nice vacation to Niagara Falls. It was our first time in the area, so we did all the typical tourist things, but spent most of our time admiring the falls. The first day was really cold, like the kind of cold you imagine when you think of Upper New York and Canada. Being the ultra-prepared travelers we are, we had all packed ridiculously huge snowsuits for the occasion. So, we stuffed ourselves into the puffy parkas and pants and waddled our way toward the falls.

The first challenge? An icy staircase leading down to the viewing area. The second challenge? I really had to pee, but didn't want to peel myself out of the seemingly endless layers of clothes I was wearing. By now, you know where this is heading. I took a couple steps down, slipped on the ice, and bounced on my well-padded butt all the way to the bottom of the staircase.

My supportive family laughed hysterically, causing me to laugh, and as I sat at the bottom of the stairs, I peed my pants. I couldn't help it. My initial reaction was to pretend nothing happened, but when I noticed the snow around me turn yellow, I had to confess. The best part? My family refused to trek back to the hotel in the snow, so I walked around for several hours with soaking wet pee pants that gradually began to freeze due to the low temperature.

It's really nothing short of a miracle that I eventually found a boyfriend.