Before I get to why I completely and totally rule All Hallow's Eve, I have to get really nerdy for a second.
Serenity is an awesome movie. It's kind of like cowboys in space, but not the Brokeback Mountain kind of cowboys. It takes place in the future, but people carry around old-school style guns and shit. At some points the writing was a little cheesy, but, for the most part, it was like watching puppies dipped in chocolate sitting on top of a rainbow.
Now, on to business.
I went to a Halloween party over the weekend and I was racking my brain trying to think of a good costume. I had some ideas, but I didn't really have enough time or money to put them together. So, what I did--and feel I kind of got away with--was I just dressed in my regular clothes and put a giant white soccer sock on my arm. Because I was wearing a jacket and the party was outside, I had my hands in my pocket so, upon first glance, it would appear as though I was not in the holiday spirit. But, when confronted and the query was put forth as to what I am supposed to be, I removed my sheathed appendage from my pocket and went, "Ooooohh" in a spooky voice.
"My arm is a ghost! I have a ghost arm. It died of avian bird flu and is back to haunt me."
And people actually laughed and the conversation ended with that. It's called commitment, bitches. If you bring commitment to whatever lackluster, half-ass costume you have, people will actually buy it.
But, this coming Friday and Saturday, I have two different parties to go to. I don't think I'm going to do the ghost arm again because, for one, some of the people at one of the parties will be overlap friends from the one I've already attended and the charm of "ghost arm" will be lost on them. Instead, I'm going to heed my friend Ryan's advice and go as a ghost.
Yep. A white sheet with holes cut out for the eyes. Who the hell actually goes out as a ghost? Me, motherfuckers. Me.
The only thing that's going to suck about wearing a sheet over my head the whole time is that I'm probably going to get kind of hot and all the ladies at the parties will not know the glorious wonder that lurks beneath the 300 thread count costume (I have no idea what a "good" thread count is or if 300 even exists, so, if it's wrong, blow me).
Speaking of women, I was lucky enough at the party last night to catch the eye of half a softball team of ladies who the hostess of the party told me thought I was "cute" and wanted to know if I was single (amazingly, at that exact point when they asked, I became not single and, instead, had a girlfriend, Jessica Marie Baker, who couldn't come to the party because she had to work--she works at BJ's where she's been a waitress for almost two years while she finishes up school getting her degree in Psychology--this immediately queued up in my head and was ready to fire at a moment's notice). Granted, it's always flattering to hear that somebody finds me to be something less than an awful beast of a man, but I'll be nice about it and simply say that I was not attracted to any of the ladies in the herd and, therefore, that made it awkward for the rest of the night when I would see them at the party. I guess I kind of exacerbated the awkwardness when I would point at them and yell out, "SHE LIKES ME! YUCK! COOTIES!" Then I would start masturbating in front of them interrupted intermittently by me pointing at them, pointing at my wiener, then sternly shaking my head 'no.'
I'm pretty sure that at some point, because I'm such a jerk, somebody's going to get a hold of the AIDS virus and inject it straight into my urethra.
One other thing about the party. There was a guy who--and I can't stress this enough--was NOT wearing any sort of a costume, yet he was the most awesome guy there. This guy was a Cops episode from the late 80s in the flesh. He was sporting a picture-perfect mullet. He was wearing one like it never crossed his mind that it could possibly be the worst hairstyle in history. I was only able to get one picture that is semi-decent and it's him walking away. You can't see the business in the front, only the party in the back, but, trust me, he's all fucking business from the 12 o'clock.
I had a few other ideas of costumes I wanted to do, but either pride of lack of effort/funds was the reason they didn't come to fruition. My favorite idea was to go as Britney Spears' baby and carry around a baby bottle in a brown paper bag. But I didn't know where to get a "onesy" from that would convey the fact that I was supposed to be a baby.
I also thought that I could be Hurricane Katrina and just have a bunch of black people following me around crying, but I thought that may be a little insensitive. My friend Robert suggested to go as FEMA and just wear a suit and walk around flipping everybody off. It's a good idea, but I don't have a suit--or hands (they're both ghosts!).
New word of the day:
n., pl -gies
- Many people fornicating in a group setting all while eating tons of bad food (i.e. very greasy fried chicken): Hey, look! A gorgy.