Crappy cell-phone picture of a stolen costume idea. Doesn’t get much lazier than that.
Ben really enjoys Halloween. What with the constant need to bark at the doorbell, the spooky sounds outside that need to be barked at, and the eventual hiding under the bed that needs to be done before the night is over. When you take into account the fact that he was born with a perfectly suitable ghost costume, Halloween is a pretty fantastic night for this little white dog.
This year, though, Ben stepped it up a notch with the costume. I caught him trying on the latest improvement to the standard ghost costume the other day, and I must say I was impressed. This year, he’s looking a little more ethereal than usual.
I guess he decided to add that extra “spooky glow” feature this time around. Pretty impressive, don’t you think? If he weren’t too
afraid busy guarding the house to trick-or-treat, I bet he’d get tons of treats.
Okay, look. I’ve been sitting here all day trying to come up with the perfect words for a post that is really all about the pictures. And I’m done. I have accepted the fact that I am not going to find those perfect words, and people keep asking about how the costume shopping went and I really just want to get these pictures up here already, so here. Here are the pictures from my weekend. With crappy words prefacing them because, dammit, that’s the best I can do right now.
Thursday night (technically the weekend, if you live on Tim’s schedule where there is no school on Friday and therefore Thursday is the perfect night for drinking with grad school friends while those of us who still have another whole day of work to get through before the real weekend starts are forced to feel like old, fuddy-duddy losers who can’t stay up drinking until 2 am no matter how hard we try.) we had friends over for a Pumpkin Carving Party. It was a huge success.
Costume shopping on Saturday was also, surprisingly, a huge success. It helped tremendously that I had some wonderful ideas from y’all. I cannot thank you enough for that. I felt much better going into the thrift store knowing what I was looking for (and knowing what to look for if I couldn’t find my first choice), and it made the whole experience much more pleasant. We still had to dig through the racks for costumes for Tim and our friend Stephen, but I didn’t mind helping them search for inspiration since my costume was taken care of. In the end, we all ended up with great costumes, nobody got stabbed with a hanger, and I even had time to run mine and Tim’s through the wash before going to the party. It really could not have worked out better.
What were our costumes, you ask? Look for yourselves (caution, drunken pictures ahead):
Stephen went as a human tic-tac-toe board, Tim was Thomas the Tank Engine … on Crack (he found a weird furry ball thing that vibrated and made funny noises when you hit it, so he hid that inside Thomas’s face and occasionally hit it to freak people out), and I ran with Nancy’s amazingly perfect suggestion and dressed up as the Goddess of Wine.
Keeping in character, of course, I managed to drink an entire bottle of Cab Sav (that’s
bad spellers cool people speak for Cabernet Sauvignon). And also an orange Jell-o shot. The evening, just like the rest of the weekend, was a smashing success.
I’m Totally Going to Have to Answer the Dreaded “What’s Your Costume Supposed to Be?” Question All Night
Tomorrow we are going to a Halloween party at our awesome friend Jessie’s house. Whenever I mention this fact to someone, the inevitable first question is “So what are you dressing up as?” In response, even right now, just over 24 hours before the party, I have no choice but to say, “I have no idea.”
I asked Tim last weekend what his costume plans were, and he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “We’re going thrift store shopping on Saturday.”
Yes, Saturday. As in, the day of the party. As in, make my must-plan-everything-ahead brain explode, why don’t you?
Does he not understand how I function, even after five years of knowing me? Does he not know that something like risking having to show up at Jessie’s party with a crappy, thrown-together, doesn’t-even-make-sense costume makes me all twitchy? How does he not know this about me?!
Unfortunately, because our evenings this week were eaten up with high-priority things like tap class, school work, and booze-assisted pumpkin carving, we didn’t have time to do any sort of advance costume shopping. So I am now forced to take a deep breath and deal with the fact that I will wake up the morning of the party without any idea of what my costume is going to be.
Probably, of course, it will be fine. We’ll head to the ARC, spend some time digging through the racks, and put together some hilariously awesome costumes, all for just a few dollars. In a perfect world, we’ll have time to run the costumes through the wash before the party, too, so I won’t have to spend the evening being squicked out by the thought that I’m wearing somebody else’s clothes and I don’t know where they’ve been or what they’ve been used for and OMG they’re not clean.
But in my imagination, the shopping trip is going to be a total disaster. We’ll spend hours digging through rack after rack of dirty, ugly clothes, not find anything even remotely workable, get angry and frustrated, and resign ourselves to showing up to the party as “Tim and Audrey.” Either that, or, just when we spot the perfect thing we need to complete the perfect costume, someone else will grab the perfect thing right as we’re reaching for it, there will be a heated argument, Tim will end up revealing a violent side of himself previously completely unknown to me and stab the perfect-thing-stealer with a hanger and we will have to run like hell out of the store, throwing a few dollars at the cashier on the way out (this new Tim will be violent, but not a thief, naturally), all the while praying that no security cameras caught Tim’s stabbing on tape and we can be free to go to the party with our perfect costume without fear of the cops showing up and arresting Tim for attempted murder. Of course our prayers will be all for naught as the cops will break down Jessie’s door and drag Tim out of the party and into a cell where he will spend the rest of his years rotting away and I will never get to so much as hug him ever again.
It could go either way, really. I’m just concentrating right now on taking deep breaths and telling myself that everything will be okay, nobody will get stabbed or arrested, and we will show up at the party tomorrow night with awesomely hilarious costumes.
And maybe I’m also reminding myself that I can quickly throw together a Minnie Mouse costume with materials I have at home if all else fails. Because you really didn’t think I would have agreed to this stress-inducing, last-minute shopping trip if I didn’t have a back-up plan in place, did you? My god, people, do you not know me at all?
So, tell me: What are your Halloween costume plans this year? How do you plan on procuring your costumes? Any success/horror stories of costume shopping, thrift store or otherwise, from years past? Share your stories, please. Inquiring minds want to know.
Disclaimer: I do not actually worry that Tim has a hidden violent side that would drive him to stab a stranger with a hanger and then throw cash at a thrift store employee while fleeing the scene. I had a request for a story that involved Tim stabbing someone, and that imaginary scenario was the best I could come up with on short notice. But please be assured that said imaginary scenario is in no way actually plausible. We all know that Tim would totally keep the cash.
While I was making my coffee this morning, minutes after I stumbled out of bed, Tim looked out the kitchen window and said, “Hon, I think you need to see this.”
“See what?” I mumbled, thinking don’t you dare give me bad news before I’ve had coffee.
“The chairs are … well … you’d better just come look.”
Reluctantly, I went to the window, pulled back the shade, and looked out. And … you guys. It was just … it was awful. Lewd. Highly inappropriate. Shameless. Offensive.
It was … well … you’d better just have a look for yourselves.
Do you see the atrocity that is taking place on my back patio? Do you?!
Maybe you’d better take a closer look.
I’m ashamed to say that those are my patio chairs, gettin’ it on in front of God, the neighbors, and everyone.
Those cheap, plastic sluts.