It’s all of the hallows’ eve. A magical, wondrous, fantastical holiday full of splendiferous joy. I’m a fan. Obviously. Unless I’m being sarcastic right now. I could be, you know, it’s pretty difficult to tell through text communication. I’m not though. Seriously. I genuinely love Halloween. I love it so much that I’ve spent today floating away on cloud nine, as if I’m mainlining glee. It could also be the 2.5 hours of sleep I had last night, leaving me adorably dopey all day. I have no idea how I’m gonna tackle another party tonight. Well, I’m sure alcohol will play a large part, embalming me in my corpselike state. Oh alcohol, I can’t quit you. Wait, that was meant to be a flippant Brokeback Mountain reference, not a deep seated call for help. Just to clarify, I’m not being sarcastic here. Not. At. All. But actually not at all. Would I lie to you? Nah, no good reason to. Nothing eventful enough to lie about ever seems to happen to me. I live a pretty scandal free existence. Sorry guys, that’d make this a far more interesting read. Instead you’re just stuck here reading my inane babblings about Halloween and dumb costumes. That being said, last night’s costume actually kicked some kind of ass.
Well it kicked it half-assed style anyway. Having metal implements taped to my hands actually hurt a lot more than I thought it would. By the end of the night I had deep grooves pressed into the backs of my hands, fortunately alcohol worked as inoculation from the pain. Yay for alcohol! My flatmate taped the implements (recap: I went with a cheese slicer, cheese knife, melon baller, vegetable peeler, olive pitter and pickle fork as my claws) on, which predictably prevented me from removing my jacket. Watching me take my shoes off was indistinguishable from that crutches/keys scene from There’s Something About Mary. I could pet the dog though, which was vitally important, given that the dog present was excessively cuddly and fluffy. Priorities, yo.
Today at work I was possessed by Halloween spirits. An actual possession. My head turned 360° and I vomited on a small child. Wishful thinking. I did get to strap a bat mask to my hat (on my face it effectively limited my peripheral vision enough that I wouldn’t be able to see small children enough to vomit on them. We couldn’t have that), eat tootsie rolls and see dressed up passers by. One little kid was garbed as 007, looking pretty suave. He was probably only 007 years old, but dressed better than I ever have. Still, I’ll have the last laugh tonight. I have all the components assembled. I have a ladies’ flight suit, a waist coat, a top hat, my awful Amish beard and a Hitler stache (not my own hair. For some reason (probably the death of 6 million Jews) I couldn’t bring myself to shave my on facial hair to a Hitler stache. I don’t even feel comfortable wearing the stache until I’m right at the door. It’s weird how a symbol like that still holds too much hatred for me to brand my own body with it). It’s important to note that there will be zero swastikas in this costume. It looks a little something like this instead, but without all the fancy accompaniments. I’m hoping I can pull it off without majorly offending anyone. It’s not my intention to ruin this magical, wondrous, fantastical holiday that I truly love (again, no sarcasm. Me? Sarcastic? ‘Sif) for anyone else. I’m not that bad a person. I hope.