Like most people, this weekend offered a Halloween party, which I took advantage of to dress as a pirate. I was almost a border patrol person (I thought it would be hilarious to go around the party asking people for their green cards), but I opted against it. Yes, I understand a bunch of people were pirates this year, and me dressing like one is unimaginative and bordering on being a tool, but I made a fanfuckingtastic pirate. I was so convincing, when I walked into the gas station before the party, the yokel working there asked me “Are ya dressed up for a partay?” me, being the asshole I am, responded: “No, I always dress like a pirate.” When you ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer.
I am proud to say I assisted in the creation of a special jello shot that was the first to disappear. Blue jello, light rum, a little Hawaiian punch, and some blue Curacao. The people’s party I went to was thrown by some home brewers, so there was tasty hard cinnamon apple cider and shiraz, which I made sure to fully incorporate into my evening. A few hours into the evening, I was at the stage where I needed to lean against something, as I was not as balanced, and not because of the knee high platform boots.
Highlights included, but were not limited to: the amazon woman of great heights in the cat suit that was super hot for an older woman, me fighting with my costume top all evening and eventually giving up, karoke sang by people who took it seriously, the slideshow of past year’s Halloween parties they hosted and the discovery of a picture of me and another girl pretending to lick the nipple of a guy dressed like a member of KISS (hmm, somehow I don’t remember that happening…), and my dear friend in a suit that inflated him to be an obese ballet dancer. You know it’s a good night when you wake up covered in gold glitter and reeking of multiple kinds of alcohol.