like i always say, if you aren't going to dress slutty on halloween, you should probably wear your inline skates to the bar.
i didn't really catch the halloween fever early this year, like i usually do. for instance, last year i knew by july that i wanted to be a vampire. and so i lovingly and without remorse died my hair perminantly temporary plum on halloween night. this, of course, changed my life as i've now proceded to forget a decade of blonde hair and pretend i've always been a brunettish sort. this is also how i came to own a pair of $10 fake leather pants i've never worn again.
when i finally got the fever this year, i got it hard and suddenly -- courtesy of the lineup of bands playing at luce -- and at an hour where it was too late for me to find accutrements necessary to turn myself into a slutty flight attendant or a slutty cheerleader. so i pulled out an old standby "indescernibly costumed woman wearing inline skates."
i also tried this stunt about five years ago. came skating into the pioneer in a short jersey dress with my pigtails bobbing. sweat bands around my wrist. glitter. lots of glitter. what worked at the single level pioneer bar was a bit more daunting at the multileveled norm's in superior. i remember clinging to a railing as i moved between floors. that year i didn't drink on halloween because i didn't want to leave ribbons of knee skin in that seamy little town.
the last time i drunk inline skated was my second day of college. i was pleasantly surprised last night to realize that what seemed like a fun idea when i was 19 still appealed to me 13 years later. maturity my ass [bruise].
chuck went as his own mugshot: a black eye, bloody lip, touseled hair.
getting to luce, on wheels, down 90 degrees of lake avenue was a celebration of gravity. i clung to chuck from behind, squatting into a position that was called "shoot the duck" at skate country, and frictioning my brake to death. at one point my wheels came out from under me and i found myself flapping around under chucks arm -- him holding my waist. kicking my feet and trying to reconnect with concrete.
i thought maybe i'd get turned away at the door: bar filled, and me on wheels. one pool of spilled beer from hitting my head on a pabst and losing consciousness. fortunately, bouncers must assume that if you wear inline skates to a bar, you probably know what you're doing. naive suckers.
the place was packed. instead of skating, i sort of waterskied behind chuck, holding onto his waist as he propelled us toward the bar. now that there is a smoking ban, pizza luce has this sort of glassed in area filled with clean air. it reminds me of "the crying room" found in the back of most catholic churches. this, for the uninitiated, is a special soundproof room where people cram cheerios into their tot's throats and let them color jesus' face purple, while the hail mary is piped in through an intercom. it's practically like watching church on tv; at luce its like watching trampled by turtles on tv.
yet, this room had fewer people in it, which is good when you are on wheels. it would have been perfect, if not for a woman dressed like oscar the grouch who kept purposefully clanging the lid of her can to the barrell of her can. then she'd run from one end of the room to the other, charging into people at will like a clumsy garbage can suicide bomber. i could taste the urge to punch her. it was one of three times that night that i began wondering if chuck's costume was a fortune cookie.
if you see this woman, tell her i hate her so much:
other incidents included a seven-foot-tall, 120 pound college boy giving chuck an extended "you wanna go" fight face. i turned to the lanker loser, snorted and said "give me a break." there was also a skeleton who got bounced for smoking pot. he stood in the street, watching the fun inside from the curb, heckling the bouncer:
"come on! some guy passed it to me. what was i supposed to do?!"
"seriously! you can give me a drug test right now!"
and then, as chuck wandered around shooting photos a woman said to her friend: watch out. bloggers.
at the end of the night it became obvious that we weren't getting a cab. me on wheels, chuck's apartment many, many hills away. and me in this short short jersey dress. we called seadawg, who finally understood that we were in need of a ride. when he pulled up in front, a leprechaun tried to get into his front seat. we laughed, oh how we laughed.
back at chuck's we ate pizza and drank strawberry fanta-flavored whisky drinks until 5 a.m.
i woke as the sun was setting, ruing the weight of my own bruised stomach lining. i smoked a cigarette to feel normal, but it made me gag. when i sprinted inside, chuck was in the bathroom. i went out back and heaved liquids inches from a paraplegic squirrel. later i would exorcise more poison in great gushing and foaming waves of red vitamin water. i almost had to go to mcdonald's twice to feel better.