November 02, 2005

Trick or Geek!

There was no post yesterday. I know. I suck. Let’s move on.

I promised y’all a Halloween treat, and that is what ye shall have. Let me say that yes, my family is still boring. The good news: Kate didn’t seem to mind. And she came dressed as Pippi Longstocking—how awesome is that? Her costume was better than mine was as a child, mainly because she’s a natural redhead. Damn you, natural redheads! You shall never know the iniquity of purchasing your hair color in a box. You have been blessed with fair skin and freckles, and you will always be adorable. The men, they flock. We all want to be you. This message brought to you by Garnier / Nutrisse. Garnier: Helping you to be a prettier version of yourself since you were thirteen.

So we didn’t get to the party until half past six, and didn’t get fully dressed until near seven. This was because it took me a while to get home after work, and also loading up the car with all the food in the world took some time. There was so much food. Weiner mummies, a cheese ball, tortilla soup, turkey meatballs, chicken wraps—and that’s leaving out all the candy. Speaking of unhealthy eating, does anyone else out there make Polish Rice Krispie Treats? These are not the sissy little marshmallow version, but the kind mixed with peanut butter and butterscotch bits, then layered with chocolate. If you haven’t had these, it’s probably best never to make them. Because nothing in your life will ever be good again. Your wife will be less pretty. Your car will not go as fast. These are butterscotch smack. Stay off them, or they will control your life and you will never eat real food again. That said, I ate seven.

But the real point of my entry: THE COSTUMES! Are you on tenterhooks? You should be. Get on tenterhooks. I’ll wait.

This is me, Beedoo the Riveter.

In the original photo I posted, you can see my brothers’ arms kindly holding up my poster, which was kind of like peeking backstage and seeing the stagehands hoisting Mary Martin up into the air. This is because I didn’t feel like photoshopping, but luckily, my father did. The only problem I have with it is that you can’t see my totally awesome button, which I hurt my fingers making, but trust me, it rules. Everyone liked my costume; I got flashed with several bulbs when I posed. My father took this picture on his phone, so apparently it pops up whenever I call him now. My mother told me I looked like my grandmother, which I took as a compliment. Mom actually looked radiant—she was dressed as a tree. She had a long black gown with flowing sleeves painted to look like branches, and blackbirds perched on each shoulder. It threw me for a minute, since my mother never gets dressed up or wears makeup, and last night she was comparatively Elvira. She even had some cleavage. It’s weird to see your mother put it all out there—not that she’s not MILF material, but she’s normally so modest and quiet. I guess that’s what Halloween is for, huh?

My brothers’ costumes did indeed have a cool theme. My brother’s girlfriend was tarted out to the nines in leather pants and completely transparent top. Her boyfriend (yes, ‘Jessica’) had on a wife beater, ripped jeans and a tourniquet, and had a coke spoon filled with flour. And my youngest brother wore a headband, fake piercings, and a guitar. Can you guess? Sex, Drugs, and Rock n’ Roll. Very cool. I have pictures of all these things, but I lack permission to post any images other than my own. You’ll just have to imagine it, in case you want to gank it for yourself next year. My older sister was indeed a Viking, and looked fantastic. She got my little sister to put some braids in her hair and some faux-runic symbols on her face—and of course, the giant red beard. It was fabulous. It takes a real woman to have a beard, babe. I tip my hat to you.

My little sister won the costume contest. She was dressed all in shades of grey and black, with an enormous skirt and grey face makeup. She had a nametag on that said “Founding Member of United Artists”. If you get it now, you’re a minute quicker than I was. Yes, she’s Mary Pickford. I feel I should explain why this costume is so awesome: Years ago, when I took my first film class, one of the first things we learned was that United Artists pictures was actually founded by four ‘united artists’, so that they could have creative control over their movies. They were four silent film giants: Charlie Chaplin, D.W. Griffith, Douglas Fairbanks, and Mary Pickford. I was so excited to learn this fact that I told my little sister, and have quizzed her on it for about four years. She is now a film major herself, and thought that I was the only one who would truly appreciate her costume. What? I told you we’re geeks.

I realized today that I make a lot of geek girlfriends. Last year I picked up three new friends, who happened to be female, smart, and just a little left of center. I wonder why female geeks are so much fun, and male geeks are just geeks. Is it a hygiene thing? I don’t have any geeky boys that I hang out with… well, I guess my ex-boyfriend counts, but he’s more ‘weird’ than ‘geeky’. Geek girls are truly amazing, because they never lose their identity. They are the same people whether they are with their family, friends, or boyfriends. They don’t modify their behavior depending on their company. When the chick geeks hang together, it’s a complementary mix of individuals, rather than a bunch of girlfriends with interchangeable personalities that hit the clubs together and spread lies about you behind your back. Geeky girls don’t do that. They don’t front. They don’t buy into the drama. They have a problem, they address it, directly and without passive-aggression. They are hilarious when they travel in packs because a) they say strange things that only other geeks will get, b) whenever you think you’ve just said something inappropriate, another geek girl will back you up, and c) you can confess things like you used to watch Star Trek religiously and had a crush on Mark Hamill, and they will sympathize rather than tease you. And, of course, d) they can drink like genetically-mutated fish.

Which was particularly easy last night, when we were surrounded by sangria, bloody marys and butterbeer (apple cider and buttershots). Although I drank quite a bit, I didn’t get so much as buzzed. I wasn’t even too warm, which usually is the first reaction my body has to alcohol, and I was covered in a mechanic suit from head to toe. I think I will dress in those more often, because it was the first costume I had in years that I didn’t drunkenly peel off at the end of the night, cursing the tight underthings and pointy shoes. No wonder Capri pants took off in the sixties. Hell—no wonder women’s drag took off in the forties. I think I’ll be Marlene Dietrich next year. Now that is a hot look.

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