Halloween Hijinks!

This Halloween, I decided to put my craft skills to the test. Aided by the lovely Brandy's tips, I fashioned myself after everyone's favourite Fairy Tale anti-heroine, The Paper Bag Princess.



So I bought myself a glue gun, cut up some paper bags, and set to pasting them to an old dress used for a fairy costume in years past. Although there were a few glue gun related debacles, I managed not to scald any body parts, nor to glue myself to something particularly inconvenient, and thus, the evening of my first celebration, I had myself a lovely paper bag dress.
I decided to try it on before headed to a friend's house for drinks and official preparation.

It was only when I was partially encased in said dress, with it covering my head, my arms sticking out above me, and my lower half decidedly exposed, that I realized that paperbags don't have a lot of give, and I was verging dangerously upon being stuck into my glorious creation. Images of a blinded Princess frantically darting about her apartment while swathed in what looked eerily like a toilet paper tube flashed before me.

Thankfully, I managed to wriggled my way out (and keep my shoulder in its socket!). I then called my friend whose apartment I was soon due at, and informed her that she was about to get very familiar with me. All in the name of Halloween.

It took her yanking underneath my dress, my other friend yanking above my dress, and me alternating not breathing and doing some strange version of interpretative dance to get me into my gown. Turns out that, even though the dress upon which the paper bags were glued fit me very well, without any potential for the fabric to move when, say, sliding over one's chest (okay, I was just happy my boobs blocked anything!), dressing becomes difficult. As does walking, sitting down, etc, until the paperbags have been bent a certain number of times (round two of the dress was subsequently a lot easier due to the wear and tear from round one).

However, paperbags in place, I set to messing my hair, smearing myself in dirt-like makeup, and finally, crowning myself. The final product actually wasn't too bad-- thankfully, compensatory packing tape didn't look tremendous out of place on this particular costume.

**Sorry folks, but I am getting too many local search hits for "paper bag princess costume" for me to feel comfortable keeping my photo up here, even if my face is gone.***

So a group of us set off to Party #1, which was to be a smaller gathering with other students from my program. Imagine my surprise when I strolled in, not only to discover another Paper Bag Princess... but one accompanied by that foul Prince Ronald, tennis racket and all.

*gasp*

Turns out that I had inadvertently inspired their costumes. In one of my classes, we had been talking about gender roles in contemporary media, and, with the Paper Bag Princess extra salient for me given my planned costume, I had brought the story up as a counter example. A classmate had seized on that example, and brought the costume idea home to his wife, assuring her that no one else would come up with such an idea. Even more ironically, closer to the party, I had asked him what he was dressing up as. He smirked and told me he wasn't telling, so, being the spiteful princess that I am, I informed him that I wasn't revealing mine, either. Oops.

Night #2....

I actually began Night #2 exceedingly frustrated, having invited a few friends to what has become an annual tradition of attending a giant houseparty put on by an old friend and his three brothers. These friends subsequently spent what seemed like the entire morning calling me to see if more and more people could come with them, leaving me in a difficult spot, as I didn't want to be the gatekeeper to this party, but also felt awkward about showing up with ten extra friends, and having to play chaperone because they knew no one.

What cheered me up?

The Duke shaving his beard into one hella sexy handlebar 'stache to fit with his police costume.
(which was arguably a little Village People-esque... particularly when you saw the guy wield a nightstick).

The second party was quite the gong show. The hosts are quite the creative types, having started their own animation company, and thus associate with other such artistic folk. As such, they go all out for Halloween-- there are no cat ears or witch hat costumes here, but rather obscure movie roles (one year a whole group of them went as the cast from The Life Aquatic) and elaborate costumes. For instance, this year there was a giant milk carton with a Missing Person's ad on the side, with a cutout for the person's face, Pinhead-- complete with pins (actually, toothpicks) protruding from his head, and, reminiscient of Ultra Toast's club excursions, two fellows in full out Transformer gear. One of them actually had the theme song playing somewhere in their costume.



The odd thing about this particular party that differed from years past was the lingering sense of a meat market. While a male friend of mine did emerge from a bathroom rendezvouz with a milkmaid wearing his afro wig, generally, there was a wee bit of desperation in the air with some of the menfolk.

An example:
Creepy guy in hockey jersey: Are you Jon-Benet Ramsey?
My inner voice: Wow, 6-year old murdered beauty queen as a starting point. Nice one.
My outer voice: Afraid not.
Creepy guy: I'm a slutty hockey player.

Creepy guy then pulls his short-shorts even shorter, and proceeds to start grinding and riding his hockey stick right in front of me... Um, no thanks.

Although at least he was a little more creative then 70s journalist, who first asked my female Ninja Turtle friends if they would be using their weapons on him while displaying a suggestive eyebrow raise, and then randomly came up to me...
Him: Will you stop acting like that?
Me: Like what?
Him: That.
Inner voice: I don't even know what kind of inneuendo you are going for! At least be more direct in your smarmyness!
Me: Uhh.... *backing away slowly*

And one last Halloween related tidbit:
For the first time in pretty much ever, I have a readily accessible front door. As a kid, I lived down a kilometre long driveway. As a teenager, I lived down a backlane that hardly anyone knew existed. Since moving out, I've primarily resided in apartment buildings and basement suites. The bad thing about having a visible front door is Mormons knocking early Saturday mornings. The good thing is that I am set to give out candy to trick-or-treaters for the first time ever!

Except that I am scheduled to see a client on Wednesday night.
And something tells me it isn't terribly professional to cancel someone's therapy session to hand out candy.