I Think TAPS Is Safe

  Last night, McKay and I decided to try to track down some ghosts. No joke. I love my husband. He even rented some similar equipment to what I see on Ghost Hunters, like a voice recorder.

  We were going to "Witch's Castle", which is a reportedly haunted structure in Portland for a various number of stories that are all probably urban legend. The one I read involved a fifteen year old girl eloping, an angry daddy, and ended with a headless groom. Good stuff (though I don't think the beheading actually occurred AT Witch's Castle, so . . . yeah).

  Anyway, after some struggle of FINDING the dang place, we started to prepare our equipment. As we were ready to leave the car, though, we saw a group of about ten teenagers go down the trail (it's actually a mile-or-so long hike to get there). I was not pleased. But we figured they would probably go a ways, then sneak off in the woods to do their business ("it's business time!"), though I still grumbled that the giggling and screaming we would most likely hear would screw up all chances of hearing a ghost. Not that I really expected to find one, but STILL.

  I was appeased that we did not hear or see the teenagers for a good portion of our hike. When we were starting to get close, though, we saw that three of the boys were heading back down the trail (I bet they murdered their companions after being possessed by a ghost that we were never gonna hear. Hmph). As they passed us, they asked amiably if we were heading up to the "juicer".

  "Um . . . nooo?" McKay and I said simultaneously. Merry thoughts of someone with a juicer, making fresh apple and carrot juice (which is delicious, by the by) flashed in my mind. And then I remembered that there are probably no plugs at Witch's Castle, so that was probably not what they meant.

  When the boys had passed us, I whispered to McKay, "What the heck is a 'juicer'?". He didn't know either, and we concluded that we are incredibly unhip. Luckily, my phone still had service, so I looked it up on Urban Dictionary. The one nice definition given was "a party where punch and pie are served", but for some reason I doubted this was what the boys were referring to. As most of the other definitions had something to do with alcohol, drugs, or sex, I opted to turn back, not wanting to step into a clearing of drunk, horny eighteen-year-olds (and that's being generous, these kids were all midgets).

  If I were the Bloggess, I probably would have said, "Heck YES, we're going to the juicer!" and then gone just to figure out what the crap a "juicer" is. But I bet the Bloggess knows, anyway, and I am sadly not that brave. So, we headed back. From the number of teenagers we saw carrying beer cases past us, though, I wasn't too sorry. Apparently they did NOT have a battery-powered juicer, and that's just lame.

  In any case, we have no yet reviewed our "evidence" from the hike, but I'm willing to bet there are one or two ghosts on that voice recorder, saying, "JUICER, WHOOOO! CHEST BUMP!"