People focus on the "treat" of Halloween more than the "trick". If you begin your big night out with a pigs head in the back of your station wagon, it's only logical that the night will end with a mime throwing it into someones backyard. I'm just saying. That's all I have to say about that.
I dressed up as Marie Antoinette this year, a choice made based on the fact that six months ago I bought a theater gown and a wig at a garage sale for three dollars. It was either Catherine the Great or Marie Antoinette. A bold girl I know, one of those down to earth, unselfconscious girls who can spontaneously dance in front of people without getting embarrassed, told me earlier in the day-"Who wants to carry around a fucking plastic horse all night?" She moved to the music, air humping with the phallic protrusion of her banana costume."Draw a guillotine line across your throat-Fuck it. Then you can party." Good advice.
Since it was Halloween I bought fake eyelashes to go with my fake nails. The box said they were made with "real human hair" a marketing line that proved extremely effective for me. Head-hair? Eyelash Hair? Man's chest hair? Dead people's hair? I am intrigued. But the box didn't clarify.
I like to wear fake eyelashes. It makes me feel like a tranny, not the streetwalking kind, the really classy ones, the Crying Game ones whose disguise as a woman are so good that you can't tell they are men. It satisfies the deep need in me that most girls have to dress up like a whore on Halloween. Everyone knows this-you can turn any costume into a slutty one on Halloween. You can get by with anything. Longing all year to wear a tutu with fishnets in public? Here you go! Want to wear a schoolgirl outfit/cheerleaders uniform/slutty fairy get up even though you are past thirty? Pasties? Halloween.
Add fishnets to any idea and you're all good. I have seen Vampire-Whore, Zombie-Whore,Whore Fairy, Whore-ballerina, even Whore dressed as Obscure Widespread Panic song( no one is going to get it, honey. You're just a whore)
AH, I love a whore, but now that I am 35, married and the owner of a small child, the thrill of walking around in stilettos in public with my ass hanging out under a tutu has faded.
Speaking of vampires, how many god damn vampire books, movies, and movie-advertising Halloween chocolates are needed? Really? We don't have enough zombie movies and yet every day there is some new white faced, fanged, blood drinking asshole falling in love with a mortal. Attention marketing executives-I've been over this since The Vampire Lestat. Please direct your shameless attempts to franchise animated dead people into zombies, because they never, ever get old.
Speaking of pedophiles, a girl told me at the Halloween party that in some states they require sex offenders to carve a special "sex offender" pumpkin and light it on the doorstep on Halloween. Not just leave the lights off and don't answer the door, but you actually carve a 'don't come here, I'm a predator" decoration.
"Hey Bob, can you make the softball game?" "No man, I have to go home and carve a gourd with my shame."
I guess it's good that they're doing some arts and crafts, even if it's mandated by the state. I wonder what design they are forced to carve. A circle with a line through it? A sad face with one lonely tear? What if they aren't crafty with a knife? She didn't know the answer to these questions I had, so maybe it was a bullshit story. Apologies to everyone who found a severed chicken foot lodged under the windshield of their car on Halloween. It may or may not have been left by me and my associates.Trick or Treat. Suck it up.
Sunny Haralson was born in a house of ill repute. After acing the first grade, she ran away to join the circus. At night, while the elephants slept, she learned how to spin and sew from the spiders. She made whimsical creations for the trapeze artists, who needed their outfits to be both beautiful and comfortable. Magpies brought her shiny objects to embellish the costumes with, if they sometimes accidentally brought an eyeball they'd plucked from some unfortunate, she forgave them and quietly popped it into her mouth. The circus, for all it glorious adventure, was often low on dietary protein.
When she tired of circus life she retired and set out alone to the desert in a stolen hot air balloon.
It's there, in a tiny FEMA trailer, that she writes her tell-all memoir. She steals ideas from the coyotes and writes them down with needles made from the giant cactus that guards her doorway. The UPS man never sees her face.