Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Deal-A-Meal, Bitches

Richard Simmons Gene Simmons

Well, Halloween's over and my eyelids are still caked with black makeup and my bed is full of melted candy. It's just like the day after prom. Yes, I wore one of those t-shirts that look like a sequined bodice. Why do you ask?

I went as the love child of Gene Simmons and Richard Simmons, although I looked terrifyingly like Carrot Top. (For Halloween, not for prom. That night I was a dead ringer for Delta Burke).

I actually did trick-or-treat last night, although my range was limited to the homes of people I knew wouldn't put D-CON in the Gummy Bears or hand out generic drugs. No Alprazolam in my plastic pumpkin head, please.

Most of my friends have really nice houses that have been carefully decorated, places where 'refinishing the floor' doesn't mean 'buying a Dora the Explorer blanket to throw over that place in the carpet that you burned with the crock pot'. I came home and realized that I live at the equivalent of Baltic Avenue.

Let me point out that if I were a little kid, I would effing hate Dora the Explorer because I can just hear my mother lecturing me that "Dora's only 4 years old, she's bilingual, she can tie her shoes, and travel unattended. You have yet to use a can opener without opening a vein." Actually, we had that conversation last week.

So anyway, the night was a success until I took my wig off. The combination of the makeup and my matted hair made me look like I should've been backstage at a drag show. Well, at least the ones I've seen on HBO's Real Sex, right before the segment about the woman who turns mittens into sex toys but before part with the naked, pockmarked insurance adjusters stumbling around the woods naked like characters from the worst episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark? EVER. I spent the rest of the evening singing "Jesus Doesn't Want Me For a Sunbeam" to my reflection and sobbing.

Confidential to the Man Who Brought a Tiny Batman to My Door:
Hi there, you came to my house last night with what is probably your child. Or maybe he was in costume as what your child would look like. That would be a little weird, but I'll let it slide because you had nice teeth. Pedophiles tend to shy away from porcelain veneers. Regardless, please come back and perhaps we could spend an evening talking about things that adults talk about, like where is the best place to purchase a fountain pen or whether having a political sign in my yard makes me look fat. So call me. No, I don't wear the KISS makeup all the time and yes that blanket stays on the floor and you're going to have to open your own can of Beefaroni. Just ask my mother.

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