Nobody puts baillee in the corner

(It’s not my best, but I only had two green teas and no coffee today, it’s Monday, and I’m an emotionally fragile individual, so take me for who I am.) 

If it isn’t apparent by now, fall is my favorite time of the year. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas (and I have seven-and-a-half foot tree shoved in my closet to prove it.) I love the Mozart’s light show, watching The Family Stone until my heart is held together by bubblegum and a prayer, and listening to “Last Christmas” around 900 times, but for me, there is something truly magically about fall. 

Sure, we live in Texas, so the temperature is only a hop, skip, and a jump away from summer, but believe me when I say the air is sweeter and crisper. Fall has always represented a time of change for me, be it hair color or major life choice. I even have all of my own little traditions such as rewatching Gilmore Girls every September (whew, does it feel good to get that secret off my chest), reading a Stephen King novel every October, and getting a headcold every November (as well as another tradition I’m hoping to skip this year, but I digress). More importantly, if I may get real for a second (as in 90s sitcom, music lowered, laugh track cut, serious), fall has an even deeper meaning for me. 

For someone who has always marched to the beat of her own drum, Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. As a kid, I felt like I could embrace my full-on weirdness without fear of judgement. Mind you, this mentality may have disappeared about a shaved head, nine tattoos, seven Rocky Horrors, and a Blair Witch Project conspiracy theory rant ago, but I’m being 100% honest. I didn’t feel pressure to fit in during this time of year because everyone glorified all of the creepy goodness I glorify year round. Granted, for the past several years I have worn my weirdness as a merit badge (don’t worry, there was indeed room for it between my patches for most caffeine consumption and vast pop culture knowledge on my Campfire gown), but that wasn’t always the case. Now, I love Halloween even more because being weird is becoming more and more accepted (don’t get me wrong, we still have a lot to work on), so Halloween is becoming more and more extravagant (plus living in Austin helps). Call me cheesy, but there’s something special and unifying about that. 

Also, fall reminds me of home. As many of you probably know as well, there were some issues in my childhood, but fall was always perfect in our house. Our costumes were amazing, my mom spent HOURS decorating, and we always scared the shit out of my sister at least once. KP and I even spent the majority of our Sundays curled up in her bed with enormous piles of horror movies we rented from Blockbuster (get that Hollywood Video nonsence out of here), and I cherish those memories more than anything. 

I’ll be the first to admit that all of my falls haven’t been perfect, with last fall being the worst and actually leaving me with one of the top five worst heartbreaks of my young life (think of me as a less cynical Rob Gordon), but I still got my moon and Hocus Pocus tattoos, fulfilled my lifelong dream of dressing up as Carrie (and a cool, indie movie looking Carrie, no doubt), and I got to have three Friendsgivings. I swear, there is something truly wondrous about this time of year. I believe anything can happen, and it’s the REAL season of miracles. You just have to be willing to look for them. 

P.S. I do still hate candy corn though.