Wednesday, October 31, 2012

The 'ween ...

Halloween is always the Halloween of junior high. We were those no-costume teens on your doorstep with pillow cases. Though I'd heard that adults hated this, I didn't think it applied to my friends or me. I now, as an adult, understand that Halloween is a cute parade you pay for with Snickers. And things in zits, teal mascara and pinstripe jeans, people who are certified to babysit these bumble bees and teddy bears, aren't part of that parade.

All of my friends houses were in Elton Hills, so we centralized there and eventually made our way to Dong's at the top of a hill. There would be Doritos in a bowl in the basement. We could pick through our loot, listen to music. Then, about 45 minutes before curfew, a message would come around the circle and a few of us would land on the basement steps while two or three couples played grab ass on various surfaces of the rec room.

The best part is the not-so-suave way they evicted us. It had to be something like: "Psst. Princess Linda. Brian wants to make out with you. Do you want to make out with him? Okay, cool. We'll just tell everyone else to go sit on the basement steps."

The next best part is that we just sat quietly and waited while they played, like, Mr. Big or Martika or whatever got them in the mood for some hot Halloween action. How did they know when they were done making out? When the song ended? When the kisser decided she'd rather have Doritos in her mouth than Brian's tongue? Did I feel bad that I wasn't singled out for some epic face sucking? Doubtful. I had a boy back in Country Club Manor.

By high school I hated Halloween. Boys could take a page from the sexy nurses, sexy witches and sexy nuns. So many crushes died at the sight of an ordinarily cute boy in a Frankenstein head or with a rubbery blood wound hanging off his neck.

I saw a man in a trench coat and mask today in the Holiday Center and decided: How lucky for sociopaths to have this special day where they can walk around looking like stranglers and perverts and people reward them with Smarties and the sociopath gets to think, "Okay, fine. I won't go all 'Game of Thrones' on you. I was undecided, but now I just won't. Happy Halloween."

Anyway, I always make a plan to really get into Halloween: Watch the movies, read a bunch of Clive Barker -- or maybe even "Dracula" -- buy a Ronald Regan mask and really go nuts. But I didn't do it again and now it has passed again. I didn't even pass out candy. I hid off site until I figured all the kiddies were at home, forcibly removed from their superhero outfits and asleep beneath a blanket of peanut butter cups. Then I carefully drove home, terrified that a 2-foot-tall Star Wars character would shoot out in front of my car.

My lone acknowledgement of Halloween: I made the joke "Oh my God. That costume is terrifying!" twice this week to people obviously not in costume which makes me your weird uncle who tells corny jokes.

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