And I mean that quite literally. Hell, Michigan--AKA, "Michigan's Hysterical Town," lies due north of Ann Arbor. With just four establishments, Hell is teensy. But it makes up for its diminutive size by capitalizing on its name. The city's website, for instance, is called Go To Hell (dot com). A real barrel of laughs, am I right? But wait, there's more: its Post Office/Pizza Parlor sportingly calls itself "Hell in A Handbasket" and has an alarming array of Hell, MI parphanalia, my favorite being the postcard that says "Get over it, Hell froze over!" and a photo of Hell's town sign in the dead of winter decked out in icicles. More hellacious stuff: Hell's ice cream joint goes by "Screamers." The pub, A Dam Site, features a broad assortment of burgers--"made in Hell," naturally. I got the Holy Mess. It was very worth it. But the real kicker is for a mere $100 you can be named Hell's Mayor for the day. I know what Warren is getting for his birthday next year...
The great part about Hell is that it is located in an incredibly charming area. Bucolic farms pepper the landscape, along with quaint stone bridges and tree-lined streets. We stumbled across Jenny's Farm Stand and couldn't resist getting a dozen piping hot pumpkin donuts. I tried to offer some to a few kids who came in but they avoided eye contact while shaking their heads and scurrying away. I suppose I can't blame them. Like Meatloaf, my favorite leather-clad 80s anti-hero, I had just been to Hell and back.
Unrelated to Hell, we have just been soaking up this fall. Keeping the tradition alive, we had some friends over for a caramel apple party. It was my first time making legit caramel and I have to say, though I was terrified every step of the way that it would not work, it totally did and I will never go back to unwrapping those caramel candies.
Our friend Janice had a slammin' karaoke/birthday/costume party and we were reunited with some dear friends from Iowa and Utah. Warren and I sang a Taylor Swift duet. It was magical.
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