The garage serves as archive for the library of costumes I’ve collected through the years. Proof, that even as a child, I would never allow memorable moments to pass me by. Especially the one night a year where it was communally acceptable to careen down a sloped neighborhood runway called Walnut St; not really having to look both ways because everyone filled the pavement like stars filled the sky. The one night a year where my older brother and I would trade candy while mom took pictures of us pouring heaven out of our jack-o-lantern treat buckets. Candy that we thought would last us eons would be gone by November 2nd.
You’d think at age 22, I’d be somewhat over the front porch fog machines and strobe lights. But no. I’m sure that at 32, I’ll use the essence of my future children’s youth to justify the decorations I will hang, the pumpkin I will carve.
This year was to be a big hoorah! Since I didn’t celebrate Halloween last year, I wanted to surround myself with reckless hooligans, costumed fiends, and the best homemade getup EVER. So without haste, my dear friend Helen and I planned out an itinerary to attend party after party. I was sure to get some good use out of my costume that consumed 3 full days of my hard labor, and $14 worth of pleather and vinyl. Drumroll please...
Photo: Tada!
THEN, on October 31st, we took our giddy selves down to West Hollywood Carnaval. Yes, that's carnaval with an A! BIG MISTAKE. Why? Well, let's just say that it's no place for a group of single gals to gallivant without the accompaniment of some strong men. We were too sober to be there. Too normal to be there. Catherine spotted Andy Dick; and may I say, a dick he was. I can only thank God that we stopped chasing him for a picture. Otherwise he may have bitten us.
