Who You Callin’ Chicken?!

For all my bitching and moaning about money and financial woes, I finally found a bank I can trust.  To lose my money.  And by losing, I mean making.  Stoogepie has opened a bank (NSFW) and I’m going to scrape all my pennies together to give to this lost cause. In a few weeks I’ll be a millionaire!  Thank you, Stoogepie!  I already have plans for all the money I’ll make.  First, forget paying my credit cards and student loans.  That’s not how real bankers spend money that’s not theirs.  I’m spending my ill-gotten gains on a vacation.

In the almost five years that Mr. Dingo and I have been together we’ve only taken one vacation.  A few years ago Mr. Dingo and I went to Niagara Falls for my birthday.  I wish I was blogging then.  The trip was truly snarktastic.  While I had a good time, it was mostly because Mr. Dingo is my best friend and hanging out with him after I’ve imposed a Blackberry ban is a rare treat.  I was impressed by the sheer power and beauty of the falls but my god, people!  I don’t even know how to describe the casinos, Ripley’s Believe-it-or-Not museums, and souvenir stands where you can buy a silk screened t-shirt to commemorate your visit, but I’m sure it outranks the horrid Jelly Shoes on the Tack-O-Meter.

The best part of the trip, however, was the haunted house.  There are several haunted houses in Niagara Falls but I’m talking about the Nightmares Fear Factory.  I know I’ve said it before, but I am a big chicken. That talks smack.  I’m a big, smack talkin’, chicken.  Mr. Dingo and I passed by a few haunted houses that had children and families coming out of them.  I’m sorry, but if a kid emerges from a haunted house with a smile on her face, it’s not for me.  Side note:  My college sorority hosted a haunted house every Halloween for a charity.  We participated by dressing up, taking tickets, drinking in the parking lot, and acting as tour guides.  It was a family friendly haunted house.  Really, what the fuck is that?  You either want to be scared or you want to go to Disneyland.  Anyway, we were instructed that if a child came through and yelled “Friendly Ghost!” we were to cease our wails and moans and hand out candy.  Um, right.

I am a purist.  A zombie is not going to hand out candy.  A zombie is going to eat your hand.  Like candy.  Sometimes I we didn’t exactly adhere to the rules and frightened the shit out of the little shits that came through.  Those little brats had their revenge though.  We had to spend the rest of the Halloween season working in a urine soaked haunted house.

Whew!  That was quite the digression, wasn’t it?

Anyway, Mr. Dingo and I found a haunted house in Niagara Falls that made you sign waivers and HIGHLY advised pregnant women and people with heart conditions to forgo the entertainment.  There was even a “Chicken List” of all the people who chickened out, yelled “Chicken!” and had to be escorted from the haunted house.  Yes, it was the adult version of “Friendly Ghost.” Oh, puh-leeze!  I couldn’t throw my entry fee at them fast enough.  Mr. Dingo asked me if I was sure.  Sure?!  Hell Yes, I was Sure! Cluck-cluck-I-ain’t-‘fraid-of-no-ghost!-cluck-cluck!

Less than five minutes after we entered the haunted house Mr. Dingo was trying to coach me out of a corner where I had curled up into a little ball, hands over my eyes, refusing to move.  I am proud to say that I didn’t yell “Chicken.” I am less proud that the zombies, ghosts, and ghouls that inhabited that house may or may not have had to work the rest of the evening in urine soaked darkness. 

Needless to say, I had lots of fun.  It was so much fun, in fact, that visiting a haunted house is our yearly tradition for my birthday. 

Oh wait, what was I talking about?  Vacation!  The fact that I need one is evidenced by my inability to stay focused and offer a post that is both relevant and timely.  Make sure you come back in a few days when I discuss memories of Fourth of July and Memorial Day.

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