Happy Hallowe’enie!

October 31, 2008

I have a couple of kickass Hallowe’en links to share with y’all, but first, friends, let me remind you of the true meaning of Hallow’een. It’s not scariness, or candy. The fundamental question for Hallowe’en is actually,

How can I make my costume sexy, even if sexiness is not at all relevant to my costume?

Alison and I went to an actors’ Hallowe’en party last night, which was filled with professional dancers and musical theatre performers. As you might imagine, most of them were partially nude. There was a sexy cop, two Playboy bunnies, a gaggle of Gladiators, a shirtless Batman, a sexy female Robin in a sports bra, sexy Terminator team complete with flashing LED bionic eye and sexy tight pants, and even a sexy Woodland Minotaur Lady-Goat with shaggy brown furry legs and a bare torso strewn with strategically-placed flowers.

Oh, also there was a slim 6’5″ dude wearing 5″ heels and a fluffy blonde wig, towering over the party as a sexy draggy seven-foot-tall Nomi Malone (that link is not the link we’re here to discuss, but it’s a tangent well worth clicking, friends).

One guy was just wearing a strawberry blond afro wig with his regular clothes, and I jokingly said, “hey, you could say you were Richard Simmons if you were wearing short-shorts.” He made a sort of sheepish face and I thought “oops, I embarrassed him,” but then I noticed he was removing his pants and rugger shirt, revealing a perfectly toned mandancer’s body in red hipster underoos and a tank top. Before the jeans were even past his knees he was already posing for photos. It was just that kind of party.

Artist's interpretation of that guy last night.

Artist's interpretation of that guy last night.

Alison fit right in, dolled up in her little pencil skirt and secretary hair- she looked like the first act of a certain kind of movie. But me? In my suit and flat shoes and 5-o’clock shadow? Not sexy. Unless you think clever political satire revealing the satirist’s unapologetic Liberal bias is sexy (which I totally do, can I get a what-what?) But honestly, this wasn’t that kind of party.

Let that one be a lesson to you.

Let that one be a lesson to you.

We’re going out again tonight and I’m totally planning to be Sexy Obama: the same hair, ears, eyebrows, and blazer…. paired with a bustier, miniskirt, fishnets, and high boots. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Oh wait, didn’t I promise you two good Hallowe’en links way back up a the top of this post? It was so long ago, I barely remember, but — Yes. So what I was going to say was, learn from my mistake: make sure your costume is sexy.

And here’s promised link #1, a great primer to get you started: PlanetDan’s Sexy Hallowe’en Costume Guide

I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!  UNLESS YOU ASK NICELY!

I AM NOT AN ANIMAL! UNLESS YOU ASK NICELY!

(thanks to dziga for yet another killer link).

 

Today’s Wicked Ween Link # 2 reminds me of a trip I took to Germany some years ago. The German friend I was staying with sang in an a capella man-choir (I know!), and let me come to one of his rehearsals. They sang jaw-droppingly complex arrangements of American pop songs in their German accents, and I loved them so much I made my friend burn me a CD of their music, which I still listen to on occasion. Imagine 30 earnest German guys in perfect precision, belting out Right Set Fred songs. Amazing.

I was right back there in Bavaria when JP flung me this incredible YouTube video today. I think it’s the French accent that really does me in. I recommend viewing it in fullscreen, and make sure to watch ’til the Vincent Price voiceover, which kind of sounds like Jean Chretien doing a Vincent Price voiceover:

So there. Happy Hallowe’en, friends and neighbours. Don’t eat unwrapped candy, wear light colours so you don’t get hit by a minivan, and for the love of the Great Pumpkin, make sure your costume shows your navel.


Random Craigslist post: An open letter to the Minotaur who lives above me

August 15, 2008

First off, I must say that I admire your courage. It must be hard living in the world today as a lady-beast. Society judges, oh lord do they ever.

With that said, let’s get down to business. Over the past year, we’ve had a funny sort of relationship, you and I. When I first moved into the place, it was rather peaceful. It was an exciting time in my life, as it was the first time I would be living by myself. Then came the day that I first heard it. What did I hear you ask? It was sound of your hooves galloping across the hardwood floors of your living room. At the time I thought, “No big deal, surely it can’t always be like this.” Oh was I wrong. It turned out that every time I was at home, you would be up there, stomping around, like the wild lady-beast that you are.

After a few weeks, I determined through a process of elimination, that you are in fact, a Minotaur. It only makes sense.

Artist's interpretation.

Artist's interpretation.


FACT. Minotaurs have hooves, and that’s sure as hell what it sounds like is hitting the floor when you gallop around.

FACT. A Minotaur posses great strength, the kind of strength that can be felt by a guy laying on his couch, trying to get into a good book. The kind of strength that shakes the dishes in his cupboards. The kind of strength that can wake a guy out of a dead sleep, EVERY FRICKIN MORNING. I didn’t even need to set an alarm clock to wake up in the morning. Instead I wake up to THUMP THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP THUMP. I’m not a light sleeper by any means; I sleep right through the viscously loud police, fire truck, and ambulance sirens every night. I was lying there one morning, frustrated, counting the trips you took between your bedroom and your bathroom. 17. 17 god forsaken trips between the bedroom and the bathroom. Really? Are you kidding me? What could you possibly be doing?

FACT. Minotaurs are half bull. Bulls are aggressive when taunted. Apparently, the time I went upstairs, politely introduced myself, and asked you rather nicely to please quit stomping around, was a taunt. That’s when you got aggressive. You called the landlord and told him that I was complaining about your noise. When he told me about this, he said his response to your complaint was, “Quit making so much noise then.” Brilliant. Go Mr. Landlord! I tried keeping him out of this, but you felt it important to drag him into it.

After a few more weeks of you recklessly stomping around, I made another attempt at a civil confrontation. It failed. It failed because you stomped your way to the door, and you didn’t open it when you saw who was standing there. I know this because I heard your hooves clippity-clop their way to the door. Way to avoid confrontation.

To my surprise, the stomping ceased the next day, and I awoke to peace. “Amazing,” I thought, “It must be a midsummer miracle!!” A few days passed, and I ran into my landlord in the entry way. He mentioned that he received another angry phone call from you. Said that you felt threatened by my confrontations, said I scared you. Strange, since not once did I ever raise my voice or try to be anything but civil. He then mentioned that he told you to buy some slippers to wear around your apartment. Genius! It freakin worked!! Hell yea, Mr Landlord! High five!

Fast forward 11 months. The stomping has returned. No doubt in my mind the hooves have worn through the delicate fabrics of the slippers and are now, once again, banging against your hardwood floors.

Please, for the love of sweet baby jesus, run down to the local Target and purchase yourself another pair of hoof mufflers. I know you can run with those strong legs of yours, probably real fast like! Target downtown is all of 10 blocks away. Go Minotaur, go! Overcome the odds, society is watching! (and judging)

Source.


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 65 other followers