• Fri, Oct 28 2011

My Own Slut-O-Ween Story: Chasing Thirty Edition

Andrea is on a quest to check off a bucket list of items in her 29th year. You can read more about her adventures at her blog, Thirty-Things.

I’ve never been that into Slut-o-Ween for Slut-o-ween’s sake. I’m not bothered by the sluttiness of going as a sexy firefighter, cop, or Republican presidential candidate so much as by the unoriginality, which to my childhood self was the worst thing you could do on Halloween.

When I was a kid, I used to torture my mother with ideas for elaborate Halloween costumes. I never wanted to be anything simple like a cat: I was a stoplight, a vampire (yes, vampire) telephone, a time bomb, and in a crowning achievement at the age of eight: the trash heap from Fraggle Rock, complete with a stuffed rat that velcroed to my shoulder.

Once I hit my teens, I had a more difficult balance on my hands because while I wanted to preserve the childhood originality of the holiday, I also wanted to look cute at Halloween parties because you know, there were boys there.

This spawned some overly conceptual costumes in college (night sky, no one got it) and some super amazing ones as an adult, like the year I went as an Extreme Makeover wrapped in ace bandages with a wig on.

Last year I had the idea to go as a Zombie aerobics instructor because as my friend D said, you never know what you’ll be doing when the zombies come!

I wore an amazing 80s leotard with leg warmers and a headband and carried hot pink hand weights around with me all night. My makeup was legitimately scary, like bad enough to put the boys off no matter how tight my leotard was.

I went to a super fun, over the top house party with my friend who I’m calling D here (for Drunkadactyl since that’s pretty much what I’ve called her ever since). She had an amazing homemade Terodactyl costume with wings and giant fur boots and a long mask.

Drunkodactyl was dreading a run-in with an ex at the party and so ended up drinking whiskey out of a straw underneath her mask for the first hour or so. Because of her clever concealment strategy, none of us noticed how quickly she was getting shit-faced.

People were digging on my costume as well and I had a good time leading the various sexy cops and Marilyn Monroes in some light aerobics and (fitness will be crucial in the zombie apocalypse!) and I met a zombie Elvis who pretty much followed me around the rest of the night, convinced we were meant to be.

But my night really picked up when I met a very cute guy who was dressed as Shawn of the Dead. You can’t get a better icebreaker than that.

As we chatted and bonded over our costumes and our shared love of Christopher Hitchens, I almost forgot what I was wearing and settled into my normal flirtatious party self. It wasn’t until later in the evening when I went to the bathroom and saw my face in the mirror that I remembered how scary I looked. ‘Really dude?’ I thought. I admit it kind of made me like him more.

Meanwhile, D was still on her campaign to get obliterated and had powered down on a couch in the one of back rooms of the house that was set up like a mini carnival. Since we knew the people whose party it was, she figured it was an okay place for her to take a little snooze.

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Meanwhile Shawn of the Dead and I carried on chitchatting and eventually had a discreet little makeout that left him covered in not-so discreet zombie makeup. Apparently his friends never let him hear the end of it.

Around 4am, the party was winding down and we went to the back room to collect D. Attempts to revive her were met with minimal success and she seemed unaware that it was her friends trying to drag her off and not someone else. She kicked at us with her giant boots and generally made herself impossible to budge. We managed to get her almost out the door when she went down for the count on the couch by the exit. Our cab had just arrived, a minor miracle (remember this is the Saturday of Halloween) so we doubled down our effort. My other friend and I were each about twice her size but she’s feisty and we couldn’t convince her we weren’t nefarious Halloween date rapists. At one point we thought we were making progress when she took my hand, but then she bit it. Hard.

We were forced to leave her there for the night with our friends. It was all fine in the end and she didn’t bite anyone else (to my knowledge). I ended up dating Shawn of the Dead for a couple of months after, but in the end, we were just from two different worlds. He just wasn’t into feeling the burn and braaaaaaainnnns.

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