Halloween
Tonight’s Halloween and I will be hitting the streets in a Jane Jetson costumes I made. I’m really excited because I haven’t dressed up in two years because of general college-age related laziness.
I was thinking about all the costumes I’ve worn over the years, and I thought I’d list them here.
Age 3: The toothfairy. I think this was the first time I dressed up. I was really into the idea of someone putting money under my pillow.
Age 4: Shere Khan from the Jungle Book, the big bad tiger. He was my favorite character because he made such a good villain. Also, I was a weird little kid.
Age 5: A black cat. My mom went as a gray mouse. We were pretty adorable.
Age 6: The Little Mermaid, complete with real sea-shell bra. Okay perverts, I was wearing a nude colored body suit too. I couldn’t walk very well in this one. I specifically remember eating it in front of some big scary middle schoolers.
Age 7-8: Belle from Beauty and the Beast. My yellow ballgown OWNED. I can still recite that movie word for word. I was Belle two years in a row because the next Disney move to come out, Aladdin, featured Jasmine and I thought her outfit looked freezing.
Age 9: Vampiress. The fake blood capsules I buy from the Halloween store not only taste like shit, but stain my teeth for several days afterwards.
Age 10: Witch.
Age 11: No idea. I think this might have been the year we went camping. I was pissed.
Age 12: Old school movie star. I wore one of my grandma’s vintage dresses. This was the first year I got turned away from a house for looking too old. We went back later and TPd the house.
Age 13: Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom. This costume doubled as a book report project on the Odyssey. I got an A.
Age 14: Heather Graham in The Spy Who Shagged Me. Blond wig, pink tube top, blue eyeshadow. Bad, very bad.
Age 15: Renaissance knave. Spent two hours trying to achieve that medieval cleavage, to no avail.
Age 16: Fairy. At this point a “costume” meant fairy wings and a tube top. I was a very classy teenager.
Age 17: Something my mother wouldn’t have approved of, probably involving a tube top.
Age 18: Twiggy. My first college Halloween. My date, Tinkerbell gets totally sauced on vodka cokes and we go home at 9 p.m. Tink, you know who you are!
Age 19: Holly Golightly. Went to a party in Seattle where every drunk person on the street saw me, pointed and said “You’re that one chick! From that movie!.” I have a very real Holly G moment when I ride the ferry back in my evening dress and tiara.
Age 20: Possessed baby doll. Yellow dress with a string and ring on the back to appear like a talking doll. I end up looking really creepy (and drunk) in my pictures due to too much wine.
What was your favorite costume?
This is why I don’t garden
Hey! Remember that one time when I started this blog and I said to myself, “Self, we are going to write witty, intelligent things about horror movies and books because we love them and we are going to do it every day because thats what writers do,” and then, you know, I didn’t. But, today I will because I recently saw maybe the grossest movie I’ve ever seen. Its about plants. Evil ones.
The Ruins stars Jena Malone, the chick from Donnie Darko who my boyfriend has a major crush on and I don’t understand why because I AM THE ONLY GIRL HE FINDS ATTRACTIVE, so as soon as this thing started I kept shouting “That bitch from Donnie Darko is gonna die!” Not that I’m jealous or anything. Anywho, Jena and some other attractive twenty-somethings are in Mexico getting their drink on when they meet this German guy who invites them to check out some secret ruins. So the kids down some more Cabo Wabo tequila and head out to get some “culture.” And they go to the ruins, and things are totally bitchin until these natives come out of the jungle and start pointing guns at them. Of course, no one speaks the language, and after one of their buds get SHOT IN THE CHEST, the kids retreat onto the ruins, to regroup and plan how the hell they will get out of there.
Now it gets weird. There’s a whole lot of this one kind of vine on these ruins. And like any good survivor, everyone starts touching the vines. Which proceed to give everyone a wicked, painful rash. They also hear the dead guys cell phone ringing from within the ruins, so they decide to go and investigate. After one person paralyzes himself falling down the shaft, another girl and then another is sent down to investigate and get the phone.
But its not the phone ringing. Its the plant. Its mimicing the ring of a phone to lure them down there, into the dark. And when she reaches out to touch it, the vine grabs her hand. It dawns on the group that the villagers didn’t want to take them hostage, they were quarantining them because they had touched the plant.
I don’t want to ruin anything for you, but I didn’t open my eyes during the second half of this thing because it was so gross. And it really makes me think twice when I walk past creeping vines on my way to work in the morning. When the fog is right, and the wind is chilled, I can almost hear them rustling, waiting.
The Fairest of the Seasons
I love fall. Even though I grew up in Las Vegas, where fall is less like a season and more like “that day I wasn’t sweating between summer and winter.”
But Oregon has seasons. And it does fall like no other. The leaves are changing, so looking at every tree on my block is like seeing them born anew. The air is crispy and you have to wear a scarf and stockings. There are so many gourds and pumpkins it looks like the city has a bad case of warts. Jack-o-lanterns smirk from darkened windows and the smell of fireplaces being lit for the first time since February fills the air. I made two sweet potato pies this weekend, and last night, a pot of butternut squash soup.
The seasons are changing, and I hope I am too. I’ve been more down the past few months than I have in a long time. I feel like I don’t know who I am, or what I want, or what I want to do. I’ve realized that love, for me anyway, isn’t a dichotomy. That childhood friendships dissipate and you have to foster new ones. That my parents are not invincible. That I can’t beat myself up for every little mistake. That my mood affects those around me. That being alone isn’t always the best solution; I have to let other people into my space, even if its messy and smells like dirty laundry.
Tonight, I’m making pumpkin soup. We’re going to eat it and snuggle under wool blankets because its too early (and too expensive) to turn on the heater. I’m going to read ghost stories and get goosepimples up and down my body. I’m going to buy Halloween candy and make a costume. I’m going to listen to Nico and Bob Dylan. Because its fall, and the change it brings is beautiful.
