Damn, putting up a Halloween party was a lot more work than I expected, but it was worth it. We had a Magic Hat keg and cobwebs and blacklight and red light and jackolanterns and bubbling dry ice and various bones and a severed arm and plenty of food. I baked cookies and The Flash brought us mini-dogs, deviled eggs and meatballs. Best of all, we succeeded in convincing a group of individuals in their mid-20s to early 30s to dress up in costumes and rock it until 3 am.
We had ourselves an assemblage of superheroes, a few villians, a Jedi, a Ninja, a gangsta, a vampire, Jem of the Holograms, an undead couple, a walking towel, an aviation pilot from the ’20s, a gangster who was a x-country skier, an evil clown, an Egyptian, and me, a girl taking a bath. Wouldn’t it be obvious to you that someone wearing a laundry basket full of white balloons and rubber duckies sticking out was clearly partaking in a bubble bath sensation?
But let’s get right down to it. Seriously, who would you rather party with- this guy?
Or this guy?
Clearly we landed the better choice. Plus, Lucky wore a bowtie and cufflinks (which he quickly chewed off) as part of the “Strip N Dog” costume. We all thought he was cute but he didn’t believe us. He felt…naked. The mockery, the shame.
I was never more grateful for the hour change than I was on Sunday, because we gained that extra hour to recuperate from the party. But now I can’t believe how dark it is by 5. That can’t be right.