How could I possibly believe that we’d NOT partake in the festivities surrounding what is my second favorite special occasion of the year? (Christmas, yes, is first, but only because it’s a good three weeks of the world as it should be – it’s nothing to do with gifts; I sometimes find the day itself to be a bit anticlimactic). Halloween has enchanted me as far back as I can recall (dressed as a fairy with shiny, mesh wings and tulle tutu, my mother’s lipstick in little circles on my cheeks, protesting loudly because she was making me put a sweater over my costume that had a big, furry dog face on it, and there was NO EFFING WAY a fairy would ever wear such things, damnit!)
Here I am, 27 years old, my heart still melting over houses decked out in glowing orange pumpkins, faux cobwebs, garden tombstones and light-up skeleton hands emerging from front yards. (Sniff!)
I feel pretty good about our observance so far – my roommate and I held a pumpkin-carving party last weekend. You’ll recall from below (see “A Life Less Ordinary”) that we bought entirely too many pumpkins, so we had everyone over to help. Myself, I’m the master gutter. I’m fairly horrible at getting creative with the carving itself, but I am SO GOOD at getting my hands dirty. Something cathartic about scraping slimy, stringy seed goo from a gourd.
Anyway, so the evening resulted in 8 or 9 jack o’ lanterns on our front porch and all of us feeling a little sick from eating all things pumpkin (pumpkin bread, pumpkin seeds, squash soup, pumpkin buckeyes, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin butter – all washed down with pumpkin beer. And some random mini-candy bar things for good measure).
But last week flew by, and here we are on Tuesday and I still don’t have a Halloween costume. We’ve had some ideas, but nothing has stuck, and certainly nothing has materialized. (Although, I trust my roommate fully on this. Last year, no one had costumes. So we went to her house – the one I now live in – and using only items in her basement, we created an elf, a hockey player, a goth chick, a magician and Thomas Jefferson. Night saved.) I feel some basement diving is in order once again.
In the meantime, I was searching for ideas for the Gabe-man. He’s a fierce, little guy, mind you, but he does love a little clothing as he is almost completely bald. Besides, he was a very BAD little guy last week and gave me a scratch on the face (and after a massive hickey episode, J’s already known as my abusive boyfriend in certain circles and doesn’t need my dog to help cement this reputation.) So I’m flipping through possibilities on the internet and THERE HE IS! A dead ringer for Gabe decked out in all his Star Wars glory. Tell me this was not meant to be (revenge is sweet):