Halloween Improv

Pretty much everyone I know in the city celebrated Halloween over the weekend, whether or not they were going out tonight. The Halloweekend streets were a mix of the normal Saturday night crowd, and people dressed in all sorts of different costumes. Geeky. Elaborate. Girls in sexy costumes. The "I wanted to be cool so I dressed in a suit and said I was a dude from Mad Men" guys.

Well, you know what? My plan for my costume this year was awesome. I thought of it months ago, and like so many things, I ended up leaving the actual execution until the last minute. I was GOING to be the Paper Bag Princess, from the Robert Munsch book of the same title. One of the most awesome stories of my childhood. You may have noticed that I did not say I actually executed this gem of an idea. We'll get there.

Anyhow, Saturday afternoon, I went to the hardware store JUST as it was closing and bought a pack of those big paper bags that are for yard waste. They were about $2.50, and I smugly left, basking in my own cleverness and the joys of cheap costuming. The problem was that they had slogans for saving the planet emblazoned across them. I might be concerned for the environment, but the Paper Bag princess was no damn hippie. The bag was going to have to be inverted for the sake of realism and truth to the source material. I'm an artist, damnit.

After Bek and I both had hilarious turns of trying to flip that sucker inside out, I went to google to try and help me solve all of my problems... And then after that I tried with the paper bag again, because checking WebMD was scaring me more than Are You Afraid of the Dark reruns and nightmares of a world without bacon.

It turns out the only way to flip a paper bag inside out is by disassembling it, reversing it and putting humpty back together again. This would be awesome and easy... except for the fact that I only had weak ass painters tape, all the stores were closed and time was running OUT. 

I broke out my emergency sewing kit, made like an awful surgeon and cut that thing wide open, flipped it and got to work putting it back together. The result was a hilariously huge crinkled, stitched up paper bag with uneven holes for my head and arms. It looked more like an exoskeleton for a 6 year old's robot pal than the dress I had been envisioning. The plan officially failed when Telly crawled into the bag and made it his giant paper cat palace.

PLAN B.

Something I found out about Halloween this year: it's fun to dress up as something you WANT to dress up as, but when your plan backfires and you have to scramble for a solution, the black magic dies, fast. Dressing up as something just to avoid being THAT GUY WHO CAME WITHOUT A COSTUME, it's balls. I wandered listlessly from idea to idea, dragging my feet while Bek tried to cheerfully talk me into any of the ideas I had, while giving a few of her own. 

Somehow, I had enough Neon in my closet to bring back the 80s, as a fitness instructor. 

 

 Crack cocaine not included, surprisingly.

Bek also bailed on her plan of going as a fairy (because although wings were an easy fix, she said she felt juvenile #Halloweenproblems), and decided to go as the complete opposite of my neon nightmare. She dressed all in black and then did bad ass face painting that would make your typical face paint artiste curl up in a ball and bawl for their mother.

So there.

This story ends with us hanging out in a bar, filled with fog, drinking drinks and eating free cupcakes, while sitting in awe as a really tall guy did a skeleton dance in a bowler hat. They played Thriller no less than four times while we were there. FOUR TIMES. 

Packages

AWESOME THING OF THE WEEK (and yeah, my week just started. SUE ME.)

My afternoon class was cancelled today, and I had ambitious plans for the free time, even though all I really wanted to do was curl up in bed, watch Donald Glover do standup, followed by Stranger Than Fiction, all the while spooning my body pillow for company. (I like the soft, silent type. What can I say?) Arriving home, I discovered an odd, cylindrical express post package leaning on my front door. 

Ever since the move, one of the best things in life is getting mail from home. Packages or cards or letters bring the people you love close, put their voice right in your ear. That bit of extra effort is a reminder that you might be out of sight, but you're not out of mind. Note to self, and to you, whoever you are: write more letters to people. Honestly, it's insane how good it makes you/them feel. My mom is the best example of this. I've received a blitzkrieg of packages and cards in two months since I moved, her way of telling me that I'm never far from her thoughts. (Friends: send me your addresses so I can mail you love letters and locks of my hair. Just kidding notkiddingatall.)

Of course, I was thrilled to see this package, and surprised to notice the writing on it wasn't my mom's, but Jill's. That had me all but dying of curiosity when I finally got inside. With the careful surgical technique of a rabid Rottweiler,  I set about opening the mysterious mail. 

BOOM.

She literally crammed the tin more stuff than there are people in an early morning metro game of sardines (city peeps, nawm sayin'!), with all kinds of amazing things, from stickers, to perfume samples, amazing David's Tea (Red Velvet & Banana Bread-- WHAT?!), lip balm and a really sweet letter that made me miss her. A lot. A LOT. 

Just writing this is making me more and more and MORE excited for her visit coming up in the next month! In case I wasn't enough already... Note: I was.

One of the best things about this package, (other than everything) was the little post it notes that covered a bunch of different items.

This package made my day and I'm pretty sure I broke a 20-something code of conduct by picking up the phone and calling her to a leave a hyperactive excited message on her voice mail, but hey, that lady is my blood and my exception to the rules, damnit. 

Happy Halloween, friends! (P.S. Costume posts to follow!)

NaNoWriMo 2012

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That's right. I'm a glutton for punishment, and I can't help myself, so I've once again dragged myself back into NaNoWriMo for another non-stop year of literary pain and/or insanity. It's totally okay though, because I've recruited my roommate, part of my Brit Lit study group and maybe a couple others to join me in glorious battle.

To be honest, I'm not even playing to win this year. If I do, I'll be a shocked, appalled and y'all better declare me as your leader. November promises to be busier than Christmas with the McCallisters, only with less hilarious booby traps and heartwarming charm, and more carpal tunnel. WOOF. Not only will I have all of my schoolwork to juggle, but also the occasional assignment for school newspaper, the building of a genuine 20-something social life, plus later in the month, JILL IS COMING TO VISIT! She's going to be my first visitor and I'm already freaking out about taking her ALL-OF-THE-PLACES and we're going to eat ALL-OF-THE-FOOD.

(Aside: I like listing these things like I won't spend a large chunk of the month napping/watching TV.... Both of which MAY have to be sacrificed to the deities of writing for the sake of keeping my head above water. Sort of. Maybe I'm not kidding anyone though. Nappers gon' nap, even a little.)

I'm going to write another blog post some day SOON, because stories are cool and so are you, and you two deserve each other. For now, I have to go cut up a mango, do some midterm review and then hit the hay. 

Killer Queen

My cat is a psychotic killer.

Sunday, Bek and I drove back in Montréal after celebrating Thanksgiving in Ontario with our fam-a-lams. We spent 7 hours in the car in the midst of a cold blooded murder machine and we had NO IDEA. (To his credit, he did a good job of whining pitifully for 75% of the trip, scaling the head rests and sleeping for the remaining 25%. Crafty as.)

When we arrived safe and unscathed back in our apartment, I went to put on my moccasins. As I picked them up, I spotted something odd on the floor. My first thought was one of those tumbleweeds of hair and fluff that seems to accumulate in corners of the obsessively un-compulsive. My second was a hairball. My third was horror.

I leaned closer and realized I saw a long tail and two hind legs, as well as a dash of spinal chord. Where the head and the other half of that mouse disappeared, I don't think I'll ever know.

As I stared down at the massacre, Bek asked me what was wrong and I lightly explained to her in a voice that had been through a sugary sieve that the cat had gone rogue and caught whatever he had stalking under the fridge for the past few days, leaving some for later.

I watched my roommate grab the broom and proceed to sweep up the mouse corpse off of my floor. Except she chiseled it off-- because apparently it had been there long enough to have dried onto the wood.

Did I mention this is the roommate who (apart from odd gallant moments) has to call me into the room to handle any spiders?

P.S. HAPPY NATIONAL COMING OUT DAY FROM ME AND MY GAY KITTY. (Seriously. Everyone in my family doubted it until he tried to molest all the boys we brought home. 'Cause he's a STUPID FABULOUS BETCH.<3)

 For your viewing pleasure, me, messing with my Mama.