On Halloween Parties, Because I Don't Want to Work on the Peru Thing

I don't mind being snowed in, but I would prefer it happen on a day when a) it was not October and b) I had any foodstuffs in my house besides basmati rice and peanut butter. I tried to make myself a lunch out of the last item in the freezer (besides ice cubes and that chicken breast I bought in April), a Trader Joe's-brand chimichurri mix that promised to bring "the taste of Peru to your table -- in five minutes or less!" Joe was right about the timeframe, but ultimately I threw the whole mess away after two bites. In retrospect I'm not sure what I was thinking. For one thing, I really don't miss the taste of Peru (or any other aspect of Peru, for that matter--in fact I have, on my coffee table, a 140-page first-draft ode to everything I hated about Peru, waiting patiently for me to edit it like a Victorian-era damsel waits for her lover's return from battle. Okay that metaphor got weird) and for another thing, the packaging clearly dictated the existence of at least two types of onions in the mix, which is an immediate deal-breaker. So I tossed it and tried to smother my hunger with a cup of tea, watching the gray sky through my living room window and dreading the prospect of grocery shopping.

I have to go out anyway, because I need new false eyelashes for tonight's Halloween party. Every year my friends Chris and Paul throw the world's sickest Halloween party and this year's is scheduled for tonight. I'd been planning my costume since roughly last November, but it turned out that my concept for a Chrysler Building getup was a little beyond my crafting abilities. I was elbows-deep in a pile of silver cardboard when I had this realization. A seven-tiered, round-edged pyramid mounted on a bowler hat would be a tall order even for an MFA student, let alone my fine-motor-skill-challenged self. For a reference of the level of crafting skills I am working with, please see the scarf I am currently knitting my niece.

You can see part of my costume in the background. And my lamp, which is less relevant.

Thwarted by the intricacies of art deco, but nevertheless determined to wear aluminum foil on my head, I decided instead to dress as a snowflake. This turned out to be a delightfully timely costume choice and it's significantly simpler to execute. I get to re-imagine the white mannequin dress I wore for New Years Eve and I get to pile on silver accessories, of which I have no shortage. Danny scavenged some pipe cleaners for me from his job at an elementary school, and we met last week for happy hour to collaborate on constructing a snowflake crown. The result was a masterpiece and it required no measuring tape or krazy glue or endless supply runs, which made it instantly and automatically superior to my Chrysler hat concept.

I wore the crown for the first time last night, braving the chill in my first purple winter-coat excursion of the season, with gobs of white and silver eye makeup slopped in circles on my face, making me look like a somewhat deranged sugar plum fairy. Not to mention the fact that nobody else in the world had decided to dress up last night and I had a lot of silver stuff coming off my head. New York is a city that allows for grown-up repurposing of the joys of childhood, i.e. it's OK to wear a costume if you're using it as an excuse to drink. But when you're the only one in costume because the holiday is still three full days away, it's a tall order to call upon your inner strength and pretend not to hear the giggles of your fellow Q train passengers. It's an even taller one to be the first one to the party and have to walk through an entire bar full of men playing poker, pretending you're not wearing silver eyelashes and pipecleaners in your hair. But these are the things we do in the name of festivity.

But after my initial awkward entrance last night, other be-costumed revelers began to trickle in and eventually there were a slew of us dressed as oversized children, barbecuing in the back garden of a Brooklyn Bar and pissing off the neighbors. Tonight I'll do it all over again in my pipe cleaner crown, and as the snowflake spokesperson I'll spend the evening apologizing to partygoers for crashing in a full two months before I'm expected. But Chris just texted me to say she's making hot pomegranate cider, so it already sounds like the best night ever.