Hocus Pocus: A Gay Halloween Story

Ho, Ho, Ho and a MERRRRYYYY....Halloween? (Well technically, at this point, it is the day after Halloween. Whatever, you get it.) Halloween is a time for children to walk up to stranger homes that they were previously told they were not supposed to walk up to, and ask them for candy, which they are normally never supposed to accept. It is a time for ladies and gentlemen to dress up in costumes they would never be caught in on any other night of the year. (except in the bedroom. *wink, wink* ughhh you're right #celibacy2012) And it is a night that I dread with every fiber of my being. Every. Fiber.

I know, I know, how can someone who loves this time of year as much as I do, dread one of the biggest holidays of the season? A lot of it revolves around the fact that I am terrible at coming up with ideas for costumes. I always choke and think of something super lame and predictable, it happens every year. When I was younger I stuck with two things I knew I could pull off...Vampire (I made it cool. Suck it Twilight) and Elvis (Because I could raise my lip in that weird way. Clever). When I got to college I realized that girls generally took off as much clothing as possible, while still covering the essentials, and guys were the counterparts to their girlfriends outfits. (Sexy Nurse/Doctor, Sexy Nun/Horny Priest, etc.). Well, I never had a girlfriend (duh) so I was left to come up with costumes on my own...and I was awful with it. My senior year of college I dressed up like the bouncers from my favorite bar....I put on a yellow shirt and shorts, that was it. (You know you drink too much when...).

Last year was my first year doing things with the gays for Halloween and it was the first year that I was mildly excited about the holiday. There was a big Heaven/Hell themed party at my favorite gay bar in Baltimore and I had a solid group of gays to go with. The only thing I struggled with was coming up with a costume that was both clever and mildly attractive (because I had high hopes for taking home a hot zombie). 

(Apparently sexy male zombies don't exist...so I found a vamp. #kissmeImirish)

As I racked my brain for this clever costume, I began to realize time was not on my side, mainly because I decided to wait until the day of the party to think of a costume. At the very last minute I decided to go to the hardware store around the corner from my townhouse and get a construction workers hat and a tool belt. If I was going to be something, I should at least make it as unbelievable as possible. (Halloween - where dreams come true). I was ecstatic that I finally had something and could  make my way over to  Gay Bffl's apartment, obviously with a hammer in my belt and my favorite jeans now ripped at the knee (I needed to make it look real? Ugh, I don't know what construction workers wear). When the door to his place opened (I was trying to look as butch as possible) I was greeted by the Gay Bffl and his boyfriend dressed up like a cowboy and a Native American. Not a big deal right? Well then I rounded the corner of the apartment and found my other friends dressed up like a cop and a biker. My gay friends, inadvertently, dressed up like the Village People. 

(I had a yellow hat on. Cause I'm authentic. I also had on a full shirt. Again, I'm authentic)

But, like, that is probably the gayest thing that has ever happened to me (shhh #celibacy2012). We weren't even trying to dress up like the gayest group of men out there...it just happened. We out-gayed ourselves, which I, honestly, didn't even think was humanly possible. After we all chuckled about it for a few minutes we ended up getting all sorts of schwastey before making our way to the club to dance and drink more in our accidentally coordinated outfits. 

The night was perfect. We danced a lot and I met an attractive "Go-Go Dancer" (it was his excuse to wear as little as possible) and macked it on the dance floor with him most of the night. After copious amounts of dancing and fun, my group pried me away from my new found love interest to take me home. (In retrospect, I still am annoyed at them for that.Ughhh he could go-go anywhere with me. Getttt itttt?). When we finally made it outside as a group, there were very few cabs and lots of sloppy drunk people in costumes trying to get into them. Since my group was so large we decided to split up; I was taking a group of the very drunk people and Gay Bffl was taking a group of the drunk people. FOOL PROOF PLAN, right? False. We didn't account for the other drunkards trying to get cabs. 

As I was about to step into the cab with my three drunk friends in the backseat, this little twink dressed as a fairy ran up to confront me. 

Fairy Twink: Excuse me, that's my cab. 

Me: Um, I am pretty sure those are my drunk friends in the backseat...so you're wrong.

Fairy Twink: We had it first.

Me: Again, I don't think ya did. You were nowhere near it when we got in. So...shew little fairy. 

Fairy Twink: Bitch, thats my cab.

That's when the little Fairy Twink took his cigarette and attempted to jab it into my neck.  We allll know, I don't deal well with people trying to attack me, but before I could smack this kids hand out of the way, Gay Bffl jumped in and did it for me. Before I knew it, there was a swarm of people by our cab and the cab driver was kicking us out because he saw a storm a-brewin'. 

Within moments this Fairy Twink's friends had formed a group and were starting to shove and push my group of 6. There was some pushing and some yelling in the middle of the streets, but it soon turned into mostly screaming. (mind you, there were cops not even a block a way just watching this whole thing unfold, good job Baltimore PD). Looking back on it now, we must have looked like we had just left the set of West Side Story: The Drag Queen's Edition. 

Then, out of nowhere, it was born...The Gay Clap...

 Now I have referenced gay clap before but this was the first real time that it made an appearance in my life. When the fighting moved from shoving to just screaming back and forth, Gay Bffl and I took it upon ourselves to yell louder than the rest to get our points across. 

Me: Shut *gay clap* the *gay clap* fuck *gay clap* up *gay clap*

Gay Bffl: Move *gay clap* the *gay clap* fuck *gay clap* along *gay clap*

These gays and girls were screaming some nonsense at us about the cab, but we kept saying the same thing louder and louder. At some point, Gay Bffl, turned and noticed that someone in their posse was filming the whole thing off into the distance. That, was obviously, unacceptable. Gay Bffl took it upon himself to go talk to the kid (and by talk, I mean he went and grabbed the phone out of his hands and started a confrontation)

Gay Bffl: What do you think you're doing dawg (we all butch up during fights apparently)

Spielberg: Yo, its a free country 

Gay Bffl: I'm pretty sure I didn't say you could film us. 

They went back and forth until the wonderful Baltimore PD decided to show up and break the fight up. Gay Bffl immediately turned to the cops and claimed that our little film director had stolen his phone. The cops looked around, and in a moment of racism at its finest, looked at me to provide some clarity because I was the only white person in this massive group street fight. 

     (Ugh...terrible...but good in this moment?)

Baltimore PD: Sir, what exactly is going on here?

Me: Uh...uh..That guy stole my friends phone! 

And like that, I had thrown this other guy under the bus. Gay Bffl took this as an opportunity to slowly begin ushering our friends out of this clusterfuck of terrible. The whole time the cops were searching the two people standing close to me, the group that had been previously screaming at my friends were now screaming at the cops. No one noticed that my friends had almost completely disappeared. 

One of the cops finally noticed that I was left standing alone in a sea of people who were definitely not fond of me. He looked around and then winked at me. 

Baltimore PD: Why don't we do this, if we find your phone we will give you a ring. You head out of here. 

Me: Sure sounds good. Keep up the good work.

I zoomed off to meet my friends around the corner and we left victoriously. We knew at the time how terribly twisted it was that the cops looked to me solely based on my race, but...it kinda worked out for us? (Don't worry, I have given back to the black community *wink, wink, nudge, nudge*)

This year, I decided to not partake in the shenanigans surrounding all hollows eve. Partly because costumes stress me out and partly because I'm lazy. Also, this past weekend, when I normally would have celebrated it all....I was stuck celebrating other peoples love. My Engaged Friend got married on Saturday, thus bringing him into the rank of "Married Friends", in a wonderful ceremony at a castle. (Feeling of Inadequacy: At an all time high). That same wonderful evening, in Baltimore, my practically married brother finally proposed to his lovely girlfriend of seven years. HOW IS THERE SO MUCH LOVE AROUND ME?!?! #single4lyfe (Side note: ugh, I'm actually happy for all of them)

Baltimore PD: Casually racist

Gay Bffl: My YMCA partner in crime...literally...crime

Married Friends: Multiplying....its like a zombie apocalypse

Fabulously Lost: Street Fighter, Nintendo style        

Random Tidbits

Ok, so these are all things that are going on in my life that I couldn't really flesh out into a full post. I still wanted to share them with you because they are the unfortunate happenings that lead me sit at home most nights, and eat 4 slices of pizza, and secretly wish they would bring back The Hills and Sabrina the Teenage Witch. (I lead an exhilarating life). Let's begin..

I have a boyfriend everyone.

JUST KIDDING!!!!! HAAHAHA!!! Jokes on...me? Ugh, what I mean to say is that I have a fake boyfriend at the gym who may, or may not, know that I exist. (Because I don't have enough trouble as it is finding a real one, I have to find a fake one and make him fake mine). See, I have this thing where I need to find something to motivate me to go to the gym, because obviously self-motivation to be healthy and lose weight is something that doesn't exist for me.

In college I had a couple of best friends who worked out with me and made it into a fun thing, and I like fun. After I graduated and moved home, the fun ceased and I was left with the constant urge to not go to the gym and do absolutely anything other than workout. Recently, though, I have found my own motivation with my secret fake boyfriend, who is at the gym every night by the time I get there and leaves 45min-60min after I get there. (I magically leave around the same time. Coincidence? I think...so.) I have told myself that I am a bad fake boyfriend if I don't go and see him.

(So I am a little crazy...but I've been to the gym every day this week, suck it.)

I may get arrested...

...if my odd day dream at work comes true. Recently I have been sitting in a lot of meetings and doing one-on-one training sessions with random people. During one of my sessions this past week I was sitting there and my nose began to feel weird...like really weird. I felt like there was the tiniest feather tickling the outside of my nose, taunting me to brush it away. I began to panic and think that I had a major snot poking out and that this person I was training would never take me seriously. (Being a young-20something in the work place isn't enough...I now have a snot rocket waiting to make sure I get the respect I obviously deserve.) So, I calmly decided to brush at my face in the most discrete way possible. 

(I'm like a fucking ballerina)

Here's the thing, it didn't go away with that one swat of the nose. It continued to be there, taunting me and telling me to swipe at it again. So, as I am talking, I go in again to take this tiny tickling nose feather out. And again. And again. After the 4th or 5th time of attacking my nose I started to think about what would happen if there really isn't a feather booger poking out of my nose. What would happen if I just look like I am playing with my nose? You know who also plays with their nose a lot, coke addicts. (Yup, I watched True Life: I'm A Drug Addict, I know what coke addicts do.) I put myself into an all out panic at that point. I decided that this girl probably thought I was a coke addict and after this session she was going to tell HR. I was positive there was going to be an intervention and/or the police were going to show up at my work. I imagined what the conversation would be like with my parents trying to explain to them that I really wasn't a drug addict, that I just had a frustratingly ticklish booger. (Of course I would deny it, all drug addicts do! DAMN YOU MTV KNOWLEDGE.)

(Just me an Urkel...hangin' in the slammer)

By the time I had planned my entire arrest and trial, I realized I was still talking and I didn't know what I was talking about anymore. Soooo, I literally just stopped talking and stared at this poor girl. (Obviously awkward pauses and shifty eyes now added to my nose swapping addict tendencies...ughh guys, I don't look good in orangeeee). She looked at me a little oddly and then said she really enjoyed everything I said. I really hope I didn't confess my inner fears out loud...

I got angry at my GPS

This seems like a totally normal thing, right? I was driving along and listening to my jamz (read also: Christmas music), when all of a sudden my GPS decided to interrupt and ask me if I had any commands for it. Holllld uuppppp. Excuse me, whaaaaaat? You see, I had to replace my phone on Sunday because apparently you aren't supposed to drop your iPhone in the toilet because it causes corrosion. (Who knew?) So I had to restart all of the programs and upgrade them and all of that jazz. Well, apparently, my GPS app had this update where it now periodically asks me if I need help and all I have to do is speak into the phone and it will oblige.  

What my iPhone didn't realize is that you really shouldn't interrupt my Christmas Jamz because I get irrationally annoyed. When the Barb (my name for my GPS, because thats normal) decided to block the music to ask me if I needed help. I decided the best way to handle her rudeness was to say something mean. 

Barb: Do you need any Assistance?

Me: Stop talking 

Barb: I'm sorry, can you repeat?

Me: Stop. Giving. Directions. Out. Loud. *(insert gay clap at each period)

Barb: Please repeat. Speak Slowly. 

Me: SHUT THE FUCK UP BARB. I HATE YOU. 

Barb: Commands turning off

(I WON)

I felt obscenely victorious for all of half of a second, and then I felt terrible. I felt like I was unnecessarily mean to  Barb, so I started to examine my response and I felt this terrible pit in the bottom of my stomach. I had just been  a terrible person and yelled at her while listening to the happiest music on the planet. (At no point did I think, "Hey, this is an inanimate object that has no feelings and doesn't care what you call it"...because it can't care...). I felt so bad that I ended up turning the commands back on and apologized to Barb in my mind. (Sometimes I don't realize how crazy I am until I write these posts about myself.)

I caused an accident with my good driving skillz

Literally...I was actually being a good driver, instead of the asshole speed demon I tend to be. This time of year always brings out the good within me (Except when it comes to my GPS, sorry Barb!), and I try really hard to make sure that shines through in all the areas of my life, including with my driving ways. Well, Monday morning, I was driving to work at a decent speed along Route 29, just bopping along to my music and drinking my delicious Pumpkin Spice Latte, when a Douchebag decided to ride up extremely close behind me. He was riding my tail like I was a hot piece of ass in a skimpy dress at the club on a Saturday night. (The answer is no, I don't feel good about what I just wrote...).

 I just kept going along at the designated speed limit (or 10mph over) when I saw the traffic light ahead turn red. As I started to slow down the Douchbag decided to zip around me to speed ahead. As he drove past me he raised his fist triumphantly with his middle finger waving back and forth. I turned and smiled and waved (because I am not above sharing friendly gestures) which angered him further. He turned back to the road to realize the red light was there jusssst a little too late. I stopped appropriately at the light as he slowed down and ended up in a fender bender with a Mercedes Benz SUV. 

(Not the car crash I saw this morning...but exactly what happened)

So my little Douchebag friend's speedy Volkswagen now sat with its hood curled up under the SUV. I turned over as I finally reached the light and looked at my now distraught sparring partner. As we all know, I have stopped wishing accidents on people, so I did feel bad for a moment. (Not as bad as when I yelled at Barb, she really didn't deserve that)

Wrap-Up

Alright, so my next post is a ridiculous story that involves Halloween, the Village People, the gay club, random make out sessions, and, as always, a run in with the law. Look out for it on Monday. 

Also...I am going to DC's annual High Heel Drag Race next Tuesday. I will be intoxicated and surrounded by Halloween Drag Queens...I hope to God I make it to work the next day. 

Fabulously Lost: Lady in the streets...

Barb: I can't apologize enough

Gym Boyf: See you tonight ;) 

True Life: One of the only constant pleasures in my life

The one with the Halloween costumes

Halloween has always been a time of turmoil for me. I tend to over think and overanalyze everything I do and come up with the most dramatic ways things could possibly play out. For someone on the search for love, I end up running the other direction when it comes a-knockin' on my door. Halloween is usually when I begin to over analyze the holiday season.

The funny thing is that Fall/Winter is my favorite time of the year and, in all honesty, its not because of the amazing feeling of the holidays, the crisp weather, or the inevitable layered looks of Fall that are presented at the clothing stores. I love this time of year because it is when I sweat the least. THERE! I said it. Thats my not so dirty little secret. If you know me, which if you don't you are missing out, I sweat a lot. Not in the "Haha look at me, I sweat so much when I run. Isn't it great to release those toxins from your skin!" type of sweating....more like the "Oh my gawd. HOW the hell am I sweating? I am sitting in an ice box and I'm pretty sure hell has frozen over in this apt yet I am dripping, wtf" type of sweating. So when the weather changes and I no longer have to worry about looking like I took a shower by walking to my car, I'm a happy gal. Halloween always tends to be a day where a million people cram into a tiny space wearing lots of costumes (for the men, women are lucky and get to wear their underwear out) and I end up sweating like I'm in the middle of the Sahara desert.

Anywhoz, back in 2010 I dated (and by dated I mean, I went on two dates over the course of a month and I contemplated telling everyone we were boyfriends because I am a little bit off my rocker)  a gentleman who was a bit older than me to see if the older men would treat a young strapping fellow with the respect and attention he deserved (or at least see if I could get a few free dinners). He wasn't a cougar on the prowl, he was 29 and I was 22, which in my head seemed normal. The only way I would date someone who wasn't in their 20s would be if they looked like an adonis or if they had lots of money. (Hey...everyone has their price. You really think Julia Roberts was in love with Richard Gere in Pretty Woman? I'd be in love with a hunk-a-hunk-a burnin' love like that if he was throwing money at me all willy nilly. Yup, I'd be a hooker for him)

Cahmmmm ahnn...I woulda kissed him on the first go around too....take that Julia Roberts

 Welp Grandpa and I hit it off on our first date when we went for dinner to UNOs. (Not where I thought I'd go on a first date with my future husband, but HEY beggars cant be choosers) He let me talk about me and asked questions about my life and where I was going with life. He asked about my friends and my family and college. I couldn't have been happier. We left our date with a kiss goodbye and a promise of a meeting in a couple weekends. He was busy the weekend after, something about having to watch after something or other. I couldn't really remember because I didn't pry.

Grandpa and I texted on and off and talked on the phone a good amount. The weekend after he disappeared and I didn't hear from him until Monday evening. He said he didn't want to be attached to his phone and he was taking care of things over the weekend but wanted to see me on Friday. We decided to see a movie and we were going to meet at the Columbia Mall. I couldn't be more excited! This was the first time I was knowingly dating someone who was a good deal older than me, and it was socially acceptable! (there was a time when I was 15 that that wasn't the case...but thats not here nor there. Well it might be there later when I tell you about it. Don't worry...plenty of time to judge me later.)


I realized before the date that I knew next to nothing about Grandpa, we had barely touched on his life. It had never been more readily apparent how much I like talking about myself. When you get me going, I will find any reason to over share and give you my life story. Now I'm not saying I'm vain...but I definitely would think this song is about me

I made a blood pact with myself that I would be a better listener and find out more about who Grandpa reallllly was. I made sure we had time to get coffee before our movie that friday and I came prepared (I had practiced my listening, surprised, and concerned faces in the mirror. I also wish I was kidding about that but I am not. I blame America's Next Top Model and Tyra for aiding in my yearning to look in a mirror) Our convo went a little like this: 

Me: So, tell me about you. Who is the real Grandpa? (I apparently felt I was Barbara Walters)

Grandpa: Uhh I'm 29...half black...live in Ellicott City? What do you wanna know?

Me: Thats interesting. Tell me more about your background. Are you close with your parents?

Grandpa: As of now yes...but I don't know how they will feel when I come out to them. They might kick me out.

PUMP THE BREAKS! Jigga whaaat? You haven't told your parents you are gay yet? You are 29 and in the closet? I like to think I came out when I was 16, but we all know I came out of the womb with a pink boa as an umbilical cord and instead of a placenta, glitter was shot out. I made quite the entrance, so when someone is substantially older than me and they haven't come out I am always mind boggled.  Also not to mention...you'd get kicked out? I was  making moves to move out of my parents house at that point, but I had also just graduated college. Ok ok...I need to wipe the shocked look off my face, I hadn't practiced that...I was going rogue on Tyra. Reign it in and ask more questions.

Me: What an interesting character. So you haven't told your parents? Do you live with them?

Grandpa: Nah, I live in a house they own. And I just came out about 6 months ago

Me: Thats so brave of you, coming out can be hard. I hope its been a fairly easy process for you

Grandpa: Well it wasn't easy at first and I wanted to wait until the divorce was finalized. I had been married for 7 years so I wanted give to my ex-wife a little time to get used to everything. 

So remember when I pumped the breaks before? WELP I slammed on those bitches and tried to jump out of the car. Now I am no expert at dating, obviously, but I also think you should mention to someone that you are dating (shut up...I know this was date two and we weren't engaged yet) that you have an ex-wife , of 7 years. Also remember that time that is a major thing and at 22 years old my most major issues were usually where I was going to get trashed and where I was going to sleep (Surprisingly not much changes from 22 to 23, except there is more guilt. Damn you Jewish heritage) not who my future husbands ex-wives were. Lets see where this goes, shall we?

Me: Um...married? Thats dramatic.

Grandpa: More factual than dramatic. Does that scare you away?

Me: Pffft...hrmpf...gahhh. BAHAHA

Grandpa: Err...that was just some noises and some laughter. 

Me: Hehehe wahhh? Prumph!

Grandpa: I think we should change the subject? What are you doing for Halloween?

Me: *relieved* Ohhh I'm going to be a guido! What about you?

Grandpa: Oh I have my kids for halloween, so I'm going to take the three of them Trick or Treating! They are going as characters from some of the Disney movies

Remember when I was dating this guy? Yup, my pretty picture was shattering. How do you casually bring up the fact that you have THREE children moments after you bring up a divorce. Its a telling sign of how a relationship will go when they say disney costumes and they think of their kids and you think of how your pale white friend should be slutty Ariel  instead of slutty Jasmine, because its more believable. 

The date continued to get more awkward because I was now using my faces I had practiced and was extremely convincing, so he continued to tell me more and more about his kids. Including that the oldest one is almost 12 years old. LETS state some facts here here

Grandpa= 29 years old

Me= 22 years old (at the time)

Child of the gay= 12 years old  

For some reason being smack dab in the middle of your child and you in age doesn't make me feel better about dating you. Instead I felt icky....thats like when Bruce Willis married a girl 5years older than his daughter. I cant...I just can't. We awkwardly went to the movie and I think he knew at the end of everything that I would probs be a better babysitter than a boyfriend...

After I had forgotten about this blip of a relationship, last summer I ran into Grandpa at the gay club and decided drunkenly to dance with him. I often have my drunk confidence on and feel like I am Shakira circa 2001

I was GETTIN' IT and Grandpa was feelin' it and I wasn't remembering that he had a kid who was now close to tweendom at home. We started mackin' it like two teenage kids who had just discovered that lips were meant for more than eating and talking(because I am nothing if not a classy lady when I am shaking it like there is no tomorrow on the sweaty dance floor) It was then that a swarm of women, who secretly wish they were gay men, descended upon us like Birds. As they began to make a circle, I thought it was time to dip it even lower since we had an audience now. One of the women screeched, as I almost toppled over...very un-Shakira like,  "Ummm Grandpa what do you think your boyfriend would think of you dancing on this ho"

AWWWW helllz NAW. 

I stood up straight. Looked her in the eyes and told her that this  candy shop was closed. (wish I was kidding...but that seemed like a good line at the time. In retrospect calling myself a candy shop makes me sound like a whore....shut up)  I walked off with my head held high and my pants dipping far to low. 

Internet Dating: 7

Fabulously Lost: 0

Shakira: Great drunk inspiration 

Dignity: Lost and found of most gay clubs at this point