Tuesday, November 15, 2011


Meant to write this for a little while. Sixteen days, maybe.

Friday. October 28.  
Originally I was going to be in Vegas for Halloween, but the guy that was going to front me decided to go to Australia that Monday, so that was thwarted. He invited me to go to a house party, but he did so directly in the middle of a blonde moment, so I missed the actual context of the invitation. Suffice to say, I was left going to my other friend's house party. The house party in which I knew he was going to be at. With her (who has, apparently, decided to act like I don't exist). And me... dressed like this:

Normal. Totally normal. Nothing to see here, kids. He was a douche to both of us, lied to everyone and now she won't talk to me and she's here with him up her butt and dressed as a "sexy" children's book character and I look like this: 

And no one will make eye contact and every time I go in a room, they leave to another one. And the whole thing feels like this: 

Yup. Nothing to see here except three rather large neon pink glowing elephants everyone is pretending don't exist, while we all delay adulthood and look like this: 

My life is a sitcom. (I'm still giggling.)

Totally normal. Completely causal first encounter of the love triangle kind. Move along...

And I did. I went out to the bar that night after the house party; after they had cornered themselves in the back of the tiny kitchen just to avoid me and I leave chuckling under my breath that THAT ALL JUST HAPPENED. I have power? Cool! And then 800 people at the bar complimented my costume and that "other" black swan kept making awkward eye contact then looking away. It's okay, lady, I'm going for duality here: white and black, good and evil. Turns out, duality is lost on drunk people. 

Leaving for the night, I pass a girl sitting on the ground of the parking garage outside of the bar; bawling her eyes out and yelling at every person that asks her if she is okay, while dressed as pseudo-sexy Buddy the Elf. So, ever the pacifier and peacekeeper, I tell her not to yell at me and I ask her what's wrong. So here we are, 2am on a Friday, in a parking garage; two strangers: a fucked up good and evil ballerina is kneeling next to a sobbing Elf telling her everything is going to be okay until "Buddy's" boyfriend (whom was the cause of her tears) comes to pick her up. I giggle again. I go home, wash the evil off my face and prepare for night two. In which, the duality was again quite lost.

Saturday. October 29.
I lay on the couch most of the day, then share a bottle of wine with my roommate as she photographs night two of applying a painful amount of precise makeup. She takes more pictures; I leave.

I meet some girlfriends at a bar: A peacock and a flamingo. We get hit on. Free drinks. I see more Black Swans. The duality is lost again. The bar crawl gets crowded. We leave. We flee to a shit-kicker bar for cheap Jello shots and fresh popcorn.

I win a prize?


After a plethora of free Jello shots (since our bartender was also dressed as a peacock), we delay our plans to go dancing - although, in corsets, we can move little more than a slight wriggle below the hips and above the boobs - and head to her friend's house party a block down. A peacock, a flamingo and a (black and white) swan walk into a house party...

They proceed to drink. A lot, I think. Partial moral of the story: Popcorn does not absorb alcohol; so lets fast forward, because I lost my memory. I wake up the next morning. I'm on the wrong side of my bed and sleeping on top of my boyfriend, i.e. my five remotes. After a brief moment of what the hell am I doing, I look over to see a body in my bed. Whoops? (Don't worry, semi-chastity belt was securely fastened - despite what my mother tends to think at times. Hi, Mom.)  

We start chatting (which I later learned we'd done for a while the night before; empathizing with his situation and offering advice while perched on a kitchen sink...dressed as a fucked up ballerina) and out comes the fact he has a girlfriend. ::pause:: That he lives with. As casual as it was said, I figured he must have told me the night before (later confirmed). My response: "I don't think its working out"...followed by a burst of laughter. 

Suddenly, I realized that this story was becoming so much better than the sitcom scenario of pink elephants two days prior. I encouraged him to laze around with me and skip golfing. He did. After a couple of hours, he took off the largest t-shirt I owned - which was "fat guy in a little coat" tight, even though he wasn't fat - and picked up his weird Asian pajamas costume to head home. I told him to call me when he dumped his girlfriend, he left, and then I went to a bar to watch football with the friends whose house party I missed due to the blonde moment previously mentioned. Somehow all of this was not awkward, even though the house dog had burst through my door mid-morning - while we lay in bed, slightly snogging.

I texted the peacock and told her what had happened. She went and told someone else, who then told her he was actually engaged. She then told me. And then I decided it was most definately the best Halloween story ever. Trumping even the one where I made out with a guy at a bar - sneaking in at the age of 20 - dressed as a "sexy" gangster, because drunk me was convinced he looked like Hugh Grant. Then waking up the next day, opening my eyes and immediately saying, "Where am I and how did I get here?" (I was in my friend's dorm.) A few days following, I saw "Hugh" walking into class and he didn't look anything like what I thought he did while making out on a sidewalk next to a main street in Pittsburgh. Whoops?

Anyway, the peacock said I should be mad. I wasn't at all; quite the opposite, actually. And for whatever reason, I thought the whole thing to be fantastically amusing. And I trusted the random guy in a too-small tee-shirt with a girlfriend he lived with (later discovered, not actually engaged, which stole some story pzazz, but he did break up with his girlfriend the next week: added pzazz?), who happened to be in my bed, more than I ever did the pink elephant. Go figure. So all I could say to the peacock was "I get it". And I did. I do. I've been there and I get it. And the story was great. This is everything the psychic talked about in New York....

That reminds me, I have another blog to write. 


Ashli said...

Man...this whole post made me miss my only single halloween, the one where I met Hannibal.

I haven't participated in halloween in 2 years. I think I'm going to have to change that.

28 won't be too old for dressing up in something slightly slutty and going out, right?

Hatching West said...

I sure as hell hope not. I'm 28. :)

Even so, who cares?!