Z: 10/16/02

Work Diary, 10/16/02

This past weekend found me in Target, spending $130.00 on Halloween
decorations. All of it is cheap plastic crap made in Taiwan, but it's
still pretty nifty. I bought a life-size skeleton, two electric
pumpkins, votive candles and holders to mark the walkway, dangling
lights in orange and purple, an orange tube light that's eighteen feet
long and casts a sickly pallor to its surroundings, fake spider webs,
and - my favorite - two furry spiders that resemble giant tarantulas
and are truly terrible to touch.

I combined all of the above with last year's decorations, which include
blacklights in the shape of bats and cats, three child-size skeletons,
some very groovy lavender lights, and a black-robed Satan jumping out
of the Crabapple tree in front of the house. Predictably, 2001's
trick-or-treaters who came to the front door barely glanced at their
surroundings, but the parents were quick to say, "Nice job!" To be
fair, the kids did say, "Thank you," most likely because my
guilt-ridden partner gave each little beggar two handfuls of candy. We
had to run to the supermarket after he'd emptied a huge salad bowl of
the stuff.

The Beagle's also ready to go. Last year she was a witch, a bargain
costume I found at the pet store that the spoiled little bitch deigned
to wear for maybe five minutes. This year she has a spider hat; it even
has holes for her ears. When I put it on her, she sat looking beaten
and dejected, so I took it off. She promptly snatched it from my hand,
gave it a death shake, and took off with it. It may not last until
October 31st, in which case we'll have to consider the pink Chanel
jacket and rhinestone collar.

My childhood Halloweens were big business. At least a month in advance,
my little sister and I would have three costumes apiece lined up. At
sundown, we'd bypass whatever apartment complex we were living in for
the more lucrative neighborhoods around us. We'd suffer the "oohs" and
"ahhs" for as long as we could, then race home to change into different
costumes so we could hit the same houses again. Occasionally we'd find
a lit porch with a sign pointing to a bowl of candy on the stoop. "Take
just one piece, please," the sign would say. Foolish mortals.

I missed far too much school in early Novembers, the result of gorging
on chocolate, gooey caramel, pixie sticks, and - as a last resort -
those disgusting circus peanuts that are homeopathy's answer to peanut
butter. November was my chance to add some padding to the pear-shaped
pudgepot who'd waddle me into my teens. I have an old photograph of
myself, age seven or eight, sitting in front of the Ajax Beer Company
in New Orleans. My gut protrudes much like a soccer ball under my
shirt; even my pants look like dark blue sausage casings. Not
pretty.

But, ah, the expediency of teenage metabolism. From the age of fourteen
and well into my twenties, I became quite the will-o'-the-wisp. At five
feet, eleven inches, my ribs and I were on intimate terms. This meant a
lot to a young man who discovered his new friends enjoyed spending
Halloween dressed as various dead starlets, downright ugly hookers, and
Janet Jackson. We'd pillage the local thrift stores for the shiniest,
brightest clothes, then march through Walgreen's to buy ninety-nine
cent mascara and lip liner. And, you know, sometimes we really were
pretty, even with our size 12 feet, wide shoulders, and bobbing Adam's
apples.

My past adult Halloween costumes include, but are not limited to:

1.A country western singer with a blond afro and a stuffed rear-end. I
even carried a guitar. My makeup was a la Tammy Faye Bakker and the
pillow forming my butt made my jeans so tight that getting my zipper
down to urinate was next to impossible.

2.An Adrienne Barbeau lookalike in a black evening dress with balloons
printed all over it. The dress was polyester and hotter than the hinges
of hell, and I could only take short, mincing steps in my sensible
heels because we'd altered the dress hem to include a circle of bright
blue taffeta.

3.A very "Breakfast at Tiffany's" Audrey Hepburn get up, complete with
a feathered hat the size of a turkey platter, a mini-dress with pearls
hanging from the bosom to my knees, gloves, and earrings made out of
old Christmas tree ornaments. I drank too much and acted very
unladylike by vomiting in the alley behind my friend's building, which
was difficult because my high heels were killing me and I couldn't bend
over without screaming and upchucking at the same time.

4.A witch, and also the most comfortable drag I've ever been in. My
face broke out from the grease paint and the pointed hat never quite
fit, but who cares? The flat shoes were wonderful.

5.A brunette sorority chick in a tutu. I also wore white leggings, a
red sweater, and a red beret on my head. My resemblance to my mother
was startling, but the looks I got from males were equally so. They
must've been drunk or legally blind, because their stares could be
summed up in one word: Lascivious.

6.A secretary-type with frosted highlights, a gold jacket, a black
mini-skirt, and those horrible, pre-painted dragon-lady nails you buy
in a package. Quite possibly my ugliest look, even compared to the
country western singer. I walked home alone, sickened by the drunken
behavior of my college town, only to become sick in my own bathtub. I
woke up on my couch with a headache and razor burn.

7.A serious-looking socialite in a black pageboy wig and a sequined,
skintight dress. The dress belonged to my friend, who took one look at
me wearing it and said, "So that's what it's supposed to look like." I
wasn't exactly sure how to take this.

And what will I be this year? Easy - a thirtysomething homeowner with a
well-lit porch who hands out candy. I'm rather looking forward to
it.