O' Halloween.
Why do I not care about you lately?
Is it the girls with their asses hanging out of their Slutty Tinkerbelle costumes.
Maybe it's the guy I feel sorry for, with the half-hearted vampire teeth sitting on a cocktail napkin on the bar, next to his half empty Guinness.

Halloween isn't what it used to be for me. Don't get me wrong! There are some great costumes, and I love the decorations. Rosie didn't exactly escape decoration and is going to enjoy the monster hat and leggings that I have sitting right here, waiting to take home and put on her for what is likely to be the extent of my own entertainment this evening.
And this year?
Halloween is sort of a bitch this year, what without the sugar and all. It's not so bad if you can eat all of the crapola that comes with the day, simply by destiny of being in a corporate, cubicalistic setting. As it is, I am in agony under my desk, waiting for the smell of someone's mini Butterfinger to waft in another direction.

A lot of people love Halloween and claim it as their favorite holiday. I used to feel that way, too. I bet I'll love it again someday... of course I giggle when I see someone dressed as a table in a pizza parlour, or something else that really doesn't make any sense but remains pretty awesome.

As a kid, my mom made these incredible costumes and to be honest, I have The Gift for that as well.
Four years ago, I made an entire Dorothy dress.
By hand.
And I did the shoes myself, and the basket, and it was altogether awesome.
Every year, especially since I moved to Tucson, I've managed to pull out something really cheap and really fantastic and that's only the result of Midwestern, stay-at-home mothering.
But I digress.

You dress up for Halloween, right? It's the thing that's more important for longer than the candy part is important.
(Shut UP Candy Jones. I did NOT say you're not IMPORTANT. I said… OH NEVER MIND. You're such a BITCH!!)

Dressing up is the important part for most people.
In your twenties you dress like a whore, creatively, but like a whore nevertheless. In your thirties, you dress your children or you dress in something that's hilarious or ragingly different.
Adults dressing like whores on Halloween is... well, it's sad.
You're an adult.
Dress like a whore whenever you want to, you don't need an excuse.
Adults should dress sexy whenever they want to and save Slutty Snow White for the sorority babes because no matter how hot you are in your thirties, THEY WILL BE HOTTER THAN YOU.
It's cool.
They're hotter than me, too, and I'm a stone-cold fox.

Also, people who list Halloween as their favorite holiday rarely list it because of the pumpkin carving contests or the Hellraiser Marathon on TV.
They list is as such because their kids bring home sacks full of candy and they pick through it after bedtime, or they list it because of….
You got it.
Dressing up.
Why is it so enticing for so many people to get to dress up?
Because they don't do it everyday.
Or they don’t live in a world of Imagination Alive! Inside their heads.

I see the world as a movie and I am dressed for my part very day, in every way.
Sometimes I dress as European Editor; sometimes as Sleek Business Woman; sometimes as Office Lackey; Alternative Intern; Gap Model, Rockabilly Goes to Work…. You get the drift.
I never roll out of my bed and put on whatever is closest. It's always a conscious decision with an idea of how I want to portray myself for the day.
People who get dressed with less, shall we say, enthusiasm might need something like Halloween to get excited about a character. That's cool, I can dig it.

Not everyone leaves work 3-4 evenings and goes over to practice, where they then slip into some ensemble that includes, but is not limited to, tights, fishnets, shorty-shorts, tee-shirts, braids, pony-tails, knee socks, leggings, mini-skirts, jean shorts, or whatever is feeling like derby for the day.
Nor does everyone then tap into their imagination for a couple of hours and make up skate names with character points, plot twists, and the similar eventual outcomes, namely, Derby Domination.

I'm always me, but I am always seeing the movie that's around me and making up what might be the next scene, wondering how it would be if I did this or said that, you know?
Halloween isn't something I need to pump out something creative or excuse me for wearing a slutty outfit.
I'm an adult and I can access my Inner Stripper any time I want to.
I'm a little busy making shit up to take the time out I need to really go to town and sew/glue/paint/pray my way to Costume Contest Glory (Although each year that I've been at my job and participated... we've won. Suck it Accounting!)

Last year, I was Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.
The year before, Napoleon Dynamite.
This year?
I'm a beauty queen, Miss D'Meanor, and I have black and white striped dress, my hand-cuffs, and two teardrop tattoos on my face (Filled in, which means I did it. Twice).

Next year, I would be most happy if I was in a neighborhood where there are tons of little kids and have that be the focus of Halloween because, let's face it already... They make much cuter Tinkerbelles and Snow Whites than anyone.

And maybe next year, I'll be able to have the mini Butterfinger.
Since I can't this year, in the true spirit of Halloween, I think I am going to go fantasize about being forced to chop off my left pinky finger and force-fed it as punishment for thinking about eating the mini-Butterfinger.
Heaven forbid that I should have to face imaginary, story-telling punishment for that Carmelo I pretended to savor earlier.

arizonasarah at 1:23 p.m.

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