Halloween is by far the best holiday in the whole entire universe. If Mars has a holiday, I'm tellin ya, Halloween is IT.
Christmas is great, but with that also comes that unexplainable depression, the "I'M SO HAPPY I'M SAD WAHHH ...SANTA ONLY COMES WHEN I'M UNCONSCIOUS THAT'S CREEPY AS FUCK WAHHH...SANTA ISN'T REAL AND MY PARENTS ARE LIARS WAHHH..." Then there's Easter, which is just way too random for any other planet to pick up. Eggs? I mean, come on. How would you make Easter seem exciting to a Martian?
"We take...eggs...I don't just mean one egg, I mean eggs upon eggs upon EGGS...and we paint them colors that gay men like to wear, and then we place them in bushes...set the kids free...and they all look for the eggs. Not only that, but we tell them a giant mutated bunny stole the eggs, but then changed his mind and threw them all over our yard."
Screw that. The midgets get Saint Patrick's Day, the handicapped get Veteran's Day, and the single people finally get to hang themselves on Valentine's Day. It's a perfect structure we've got going here on Earth. And for me? And the martians? HALLOWEEN, BABY.
That's right; I'm already thinking about it. What to be, what to be...how many half-naked girls will I see, will I see...the possibilities are endless, and it's driving me mad. It's too much pressure is what it is. I have to be something creative and it has to be original and I want it to be funny but I don't want to look ugly because I still want guys to want to come over to me and so it has to be a sexy funny but I don't want to look like a slut because I don't want guys to want to cum on to me and so now I'm back to being just funny but oh wait the entire male species collaborated and took all the good ones now look I'm a witch for the fifth fucking time.
Really, though, I'm just pissed at myself. My entire high school career was filled with bad Halloween mishaps and I'm still not over it.
My friend has a Halloween party, so, of course, I get all decked out. I got the black tights, the black heels, the black gloves, the red dress with the black polka dots; I got the wings, and I even got the antenna. THE MOTHER FUCKIN ANTENNA, BITCH. And, as you can imagine, getting this decked out takes a long time, so I'm the last one to arrive.
"Oh, hello, Natasha! HA! Don't you look adorable! Everyone's out back by the fire."
So I strut on out there with a swagger only a ladybug could pull off, and I can't see the 20-something people out there in the dark, just their shadows, so I'm smiling, I'm waving, and you know what the first thing I hear is? Was it a 'Hello Natasha!' Was it a "You have the best costume here, Natasha!' Was it a "FoxAY LaDAY: Natasha!" No.
"Guys look! Natasha wore a costume!"
Need I go on.
I was 16, the age I had been waiting for all my life as far as Halloween-costumes go. Scarlet O'Hara was 16 when she wore her famous green and white dress, and now I was going to. My mother sewed the whole thing herself, created it right from scratch, and it was beautiful. I get in it, I'm feelin good, stoked out of my mind, I head on out to borrow some candy from the neighbors. (When you're way too old to be trick-or-treating, you call it Candy Borrowing.) I walk up to the door, say my line, and I briefly catch the lady glance at my chest. I'm thinking, is she trying to tell what age I am? Does she think I'm too old to borrow her candy? Then I look down. And hey! It's my bra! Right there! Hello, cleavage! AWESOME. This happens more than once. No matter how many times I pulled it up, it kept falling down. Scarlett O'Hara? More like Scarlet O'Whora. (Yes, I know, my wit leaves you speechless.)
I was a bumblebee. I just realized I have a thing for bugs. Don't really know what that's about. Anyway, we have Costume Day at school, and I had been buying little things all throughout the summer, bumblebee trinkets you could call them, to make my costume complete. I may not look totally awesome, but I felt proud. No WAY were there going to be any bumblebees walking the halls but me.
Costume Day comes.
SEVEN OTHER FUCKING BUMBLEBEES.
End of story.
It started with a minor mishap of the black hair dye I had sprayed on my head smudging all across my entire face and not coming off for the rest of the night. I looked more like Oliver Twist then Betty Boop. But that was just the pre-show. I then spent 2 hours looking for a house where "THE" Halloween party was going on.
"Hey, can you give me directions?"
"I'M SORRY I CAN'T HEAR YOU THERE ARE JUST SOOOO MANY PEOPLE HERE IT'S INSANE!"
"Hey, we're lost, can you help?"
"NO SORRY I'M GOIN ON A BEER RUN WE'VE ALREADY GONE THROUGH EIGHT KEGS!"
"Give me the fucking directions to this party."
"Take a left on Crestview and go up the hill and it's on your right."
"Oh my god THANK YOU."
So we get there, and there's a gate. And you need a code. No one mentioned a code. Wouldn't someone have mentioned a code? Isn't a code a kind of crucial part to getting to the house? Then, we see a car come out of the gate from the other side. Then another. And another. And another. And after about 40 fucking cars leave, 3 cop cars pull in. And then we leave. And we go home. And I wash my face because I now look more like a black man than Oliver Twist.
That's why this Halloween better be the shit. Or I'll have to resort to eggs.