Category Costumes

Ever make it with a fat guy with a whip and a giant sack?

Here comes a Santa Claus There goes a Santa Claus Right down Denny Way! Many are weaving Some are heaving That one’s missing teeth! Amidst the red-suited whirlwind One flashed my girlfriend That just doesn’t seem right. But as they say It’ll be OK ‘Cause Santa Claus came tonight!

On Saturday, I suited-up to join the red menace in Seattle. Other than shortening the sleeves, I didn’t make any significant alterations to my santa suit–there were a couple of things I would have liked to have done, but I was busy mutilating a reindeer.

Yes. Mutilating a reindeer.

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Meet Stanley, the emo-deer. If you press his left front hoof, he sways and moans ‘Blue Christmas’. I hate Stanley. Napoleon had strong feelings about him as well, namely concerning Stanley’s throat and Napoleon’s birthright to put his teeth there. While I’m certain Napodog could have done a fine job ripping him a new asshole, I had more diabolical plans for Stanley.

…*I* ripped him a new asshole.

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Stanley’s singing was on a whole new level of annoying; it was a true pleasure to cut him open at the bottom and rip his guts out, and slitting his throat was really the final insult. After he was good and dead, I crammed a flask up his ass filled with an uber-delicious gingerbread martini, for the greater good.

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Now, in getting ready for this whole Santarchy thing, I made an important discovery: Santa lives at the North Pole for a reason, and that reason is because his choice of outfit is hotter than frigging hell. I reckon that the North Pole is one of the few places you can get around wearing velvet from head to toe, with big fur boots and being hairier than a Cap Hill bear, besides, without sweating to death. I made this discovery because I waited to put on my beard until I was fully-suited, and as it turns out, elastic bands made for the heads of adult males are slightly too big for my head and need to be bobby-pinned in place with no less than thirty pins, and that is antsy, fussy work when one is already sweating.

When my beard was finally pinned into place, I put on my wig and hat, grabbed my sack stuffed with candy canes, booze-filled chocolate, beads with visions of ‘Show Santa your tits’ dancing through my head, and, of course, the Stanley Flask.

As it turns out, being suited up as Santa walking down the street to the bus stop draws a LOT of attention. In the few minutes I was outside, a good twenty people honked and waved happily. Two teenage girls at the bus stop approached and asked if they could have their picture taken with me.

Santa ON the bus was a different story. Almost as soon as I boarded, a kid asked loudly “MOM, what is SANTA doing on the BUS?” Reply: “That’s a lady Santa, you just don’t worry about it.” I drew a lot of strange looks and sideways glances–what is it about riding the bus in a Santa suit that makes me presumed more likely to be a nutbag than walking down the street in a Santa suit? Is it a proximity issue? As soon as I got off the bus, a different little girl was delighted to see me, waving, with her eyes as big as saucers. Especially during moments like those, I was very careful to just smile and wave and not say anything, because I would never want to mess with a magical experience for a kid and the moment would be ruined the second she heard my ‘tampax-y commerial voice’, and aside from my girlish voice and feminine facial features, I think I made a pretty awesome damn Santa. Given that Santa is a fat man, I bet he has a hot rack, too, so I wasn’t too far out of character there.

So, to recap:

On the bus–Look at that crazy fucker in the santa suit, I hope the he-she doesn’t have a gun. Off the bus–Look, it’s Santa! I AM SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW I NEED TO SQUEAL IN DELIGHT.

 

From Westlake, I hopped another bus up to Capitol Hill, and that’s where I ran into my first two Santa allies. Once Santas are allied, the pressure to be Perfect Santa is off–one lone Santa could be real Santa, but three Santas together and kids know you’re not The One so you don’t need to worry about ruining them for life.

The first stop on the Santarchy tour was the Eylsian Brewery, which I completely missed while doing the antsypants dance at home and pinning my beard in place. The second stop was at the Comet Tavern, and things were already in full swing, music being blasted through bullhorns and pot smoke heavy in the air.

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There I am in the lower right, the super-fuzzy santa and the santa with the shoulder bag in front of me are the two I met on the bus.

 

 

I gave this Santa some beads with a jingle bell attached, and Santa gave me a nip of tequila. IT HAD BEGUN. Soon, I was openly drinking from Stanley, jumping invisible double-dutch rope, and spanking elves. All too soon, it was time for the Santalympics; when it was time to move location, people started up the chant “Hey hey! Ho ho! Santa’s gotta go!” and it was fairly effective in rounding everyone up. The next location was Cal Anderson park–while we were walking past the basketball court, the tall Santa next to me ran over, grabbed the basketball, and asked “Who wants to see Santa slam-dunk?” We all agreed that would be spectacular, so he ran and completely missed the lay-up. This was immediately followed by heckling: “Santa needs to work on his vertical!” “I told you! Santa can’t jump!”

 

When we reached the fountain, we found that it had frozen over, and because none of us are particularly wise, we all climbed into the fountain and started ice-skating. Luckily, the ice did not crack under the weight of 100+ Santas AND I managed not to fall on my ass OR break my face. The Santa with the ‘Free Hugs’ sign moved out in to the middle of the fountain and shouted “FREE HUGS…NOW ON ICE!” and I decided to get in on that–we both ran toward one another, slid into the hug, and spun around.

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Then Santa Jesus ran out onto the frozen surface and screamed “I’M WALKING ON WATER, EVERYBODY” and I very nearly wept with laughter.

One of the first Santalympics events was racing down the hill, seated on a block of ice. This is trickier than it sounds, getting the ice block in motion without sliding off yourself.

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I got my block of ice going pretty quickly down the hill, and then popped off the front and slid for another couple of yards on my ass. It’s a wonder that my pants didn’t get grass stains.

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It takes a certain level of trust to allow another deviant-minded Santa to spray a message on your back–everyone who did this was concerned that instead of a holiday message, they were going to end up with a great big cock on their backside.

While watching people get sprayed, I missed the Tug-of-War, but trotted over and was handed four giant candy canes and was told to organize some sort of Santa race. I decided that the most proper event would be a Santa Wheelbarrow Race, with the Santas acting as wheelbarrows holding the giant candy canes in their mouths.

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I made them race pretty far, and rewarded the winners with booze-filled chocolate. The Santa on the left below was the winning wheelbarrow.

 

After the Santalympics Wheelbarrow Race, it was time for the traditional elf tossing. Here’s Santa setting up caution tape so ‘innocent’ Santa bystanders didn’t get cracked in the face with an elf or a reindeer.

 

I was one of the first to go, and, already a little shit-housed, I chose the unwise method of spinning around with the elf like I was participating in a shot-put event. As I let go of the elf’s hands, I stumbled and fell, the elf flew into the crowd and cracked someone in the face, and I still got an award for distance.

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Granted, it wasn’t an EXTRAORDINARY distance, but I did make an effort. And I hurt someone.

I also broke my belt.

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I would think that the belt would’ve lasted for more than one use, but I suppose it wasn’t intended for the sort of activities I was putting it through, either. Once a cheap vinyl belt like this has started ripping, there’s really no way to stem the tide. I kept notching it back, and eventually it would rip again, and again, until it got to the point where I could no longer fit it around my body, and then it was abandoned inside a bar.

 

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During the elf-tossing event, I was handing out beads and more liquor-chocolates. I finished off Stanley, drank cider from some guy’s camelbak, some dude grabbed me and kissed me, and this guy showed me his ‘tits’.

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I could’ve watched elf-tossing for a while longer, but hey hey, ho ho, Santa had to go.

…To put a great big bag of Dicks in his mouth.

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I didn’t know ANY of these people at the start of the day, by the next bar stop, we were all chums. The guy to my right (photo right, in the beard) asked me to text him this photo, and on Sunday morning, he messaged me to make sure I’d gotten home all right. I suppose camaraderie isn’t all that unusual–it takes a certain sort of person to show up to these kinds of events, and having a baseline ‘Oh, hey, you like to dress up in costumes and dance in public and probably REALLY like attention’ isn’t a bad way to start getting to know people.

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I think we can all be in agreement that this is the best Santa of them all.

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Oh, and hey, here is a giant cock Santa going down on Santa’s giant cock.

At the Hurricane, I ran into strand, who dyed his hair green for the occasion and it looked FABULOUS. Of course, I didn’t get a picture because I fail on every conceivable level.

After we finished up at the Hurricane, it was time for the march across Denny, where we stopped on the overpass, waved at the vehicles on the freeway below, *cough* made out with stranger Santas, and probably committed at least six felonies.

By the time we got to the REI, it was almost time for me to leave–I bumped into Sam, who introduced me to her fiancé. It was nice to see her, but I had to do a ‘hi! bye!’ because I didn’t want to miss my bus. I found the intersection where I was supposed to catch the bus, but there was no actual stop there. I found the bus itself, stopped on the side of the road. There was no one aboard, not even a driver–I knocked on the door with no answer. I walked down the street a little bit to try to find the actual stop, my mouth full of the taste of Santa and booze, when I realized I really, really, really had to pee. Really badly. Oh, hello, random port-a-potty! Oh, hello, lock on port-a-potty door! FUUUUUDGE. I looked at the bus. I looked at the otherwise empty street. I looked at the brush under the overpass. I did the potty dance. I looked at the bus again. I made my decision, and precisely when I pulled my pants down, the bus started up and drove past me. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDGE. NOW how was I supposed to get to Bothell for Shannon’s Ugly Sweater and Elf party? I attempted to high-tail it to the transfer location, figuring that missing one bus wouldn’t necessarily mean I’d miss the other if I moved quickly enough, and then I realized that of all the things I am skilled at, moving quickly is not one of them, and no matter how quickly I shuffled, I wasn’t going to make it. I resolved to meet back up with the Santas and figure out another game plan. I don’t think I have Shannon’s phone number, so I sent a text message to Emily letting her know I’d missed the bus and would be unable to make it to Bothell.

Outside the something something bar (here is where things start to get a little fuzzy), I met xaotica for the first time, who is cute as a button. We decided to leave a little early to get the jump on the Santas for the next bar, so we could get a seat inside, and grab a hot dog and a beer. This was a wise decision–the amount of Santas in the group grew exponentially, and no one had bothered to let the bars on the route know they were on the route, so we were greeted by a solitary frazzled bartender. We each got a dog and a beer and as we ate, Santas flooded into the doors like a red tide. It was around this time that I noticed I’d missed a call from Emily, who said she’d come get me; when I called her back, I got Julia on the phone and we completely miscommunicated, because I would’ve been happy to accept a ride, and she thought I was blowing them off to continue partying, so I figured I would stay with the Santas and see if I couldn’t crash at Kim’s place for the night. For some reason, the bartender bought Kimberley and I our second round, and after we finished that (I had to cut myself off at a few sips because I knew I was rapidly approaching the Danger Zone, so I passed the drink along to another thirsty Santa), we went across the street to get some coffee, away from the drunken craziness for a bit.

It was around then that Jim called and offered to come get me; he was almost at Shannon’s, but was willing to drop in there for a minute to say hi and then turn around to come and pick me up. Twenty-odd minutes later, I said goodbye to Kim, hopped in Jim’s car, and rode across the water to Shannon’s place, not alltogether too much later than the bus would have gotten me there anyway. Emily got me some food, I told people a bit about my night, Shannon started the movie, and I promptly fell asleep on her couch. Apparently, (and while I don’t doubt that it’s true, I wish that it wasn’t) I started snoringsnoozing (cuter word) loudly enough that Shannon’s dog, Sophie, thought I was challenging her, and she started growling at me intently while I slept on the couch.

Without a doubt, I am the best party guest ever.

You’d better watch out Get out if you can! A red-suited menace is sweeping the land Cause Santa Clauses are coming to town.

Get out of the way of our fake black boots We’re flooding the city with our cheap red suits Santa Clauses are coming to town!

We know what you’ve been up to, you’ve made the naughty list. So cut us in for our fair share, you don’t want these Santas pissed

 

SOOOOO get out of the way of our red-suited wave Is this any way For St. Nick to behave? Santa Clauses have come to town!

Red, White, & Dead

zombie On Friday, I met up with poetrix618 and amazoni to apply varying levels of gore to our faces for the record-breaking zombie gathering. Both Anne and Tonya made special shirts to wear–Anne’s said “I digeat geeks”, and Tonya’s was a play on the Subway ‘eat fresh’ ads: 6768_99530448939_504738939_2156330_6768098_n 6768_99530453939_504738939_2156331_5589014_n   Me? I decided I’d just go for disgusting makeup. We had a bit of fun staggering around Anne’s neighborhood, flinging blood on ourselves and on the ground near the mailbox, which is an appropriate location for any massacre, frankly. After this, we all loaded into Tonya’s car, realized we’d need to stop to buy some water, scared the crap out of some people in a Bartell’s, got on the highway in the wrong direction, and then finally started making our way to Fremont. As we got into the city, I rolled down my window and proceeded to groan at every person, car, and bicyclist we passed, and did not get ONE REACTION. NOT ONE. Maybe zombies ARE played out. 6768_99530498939_504738939_2156339_4567793_n We waited in line to register to count toward the Guinness total for about an hour, behind the most annoying child on earth and his equally annoying mother. The kid was way into the moaning thing, but it was more of the “mooooooooooooom I’m sooooooooooooooo thirsty” interspersed with loud shouty moans and his mom was dressed up like some sort of goth pirate, which, as of the last time I checked, was not the theme. This, combined with the heat, combined with the blinding sunshine and lack of glasses hence lack of focusing ability, helped reveal my true, unpleasantly dictatorial nature. I pantomimed kicking the child in the back of the head. I loudly dropped F-bombs. I noticed that Anne’s shirt was too clean and demanded she lay on the ground and do a dirt angel. NOW. NOW!! What choice did she have but to comply? 6768_99530508939_504738939_2156340_7930687_n After we finally got registered, we were given nametags. For the rest of the day, I was to be known as Moses, or at least my right boob was to be known as Moses, anyway. I, for my part, perhaps derived a bit too much pleasure from shouting “LET MY ZOMBIES GO!”. Repeatedly. 6768_99530528939_504738939_2156344_3386072_n Next, we had our photo taken by the fine folks at NightZero, and though they have not yet processed our photos, I will post it when they do. To repay them, I did my very best to try to knock down their set. As it turns out, I shouldn’t probably hang my body weight off of anything. Who knew? *edit*Oh hey, six months later, I am finally adding in the NightZero picture! 4225430017_c5a614ba00_o   6768_99530548939_504738939_2156346_6754928_n Now, this might be my true, unpleasant nature revealing itself again, but these girls? I HATE THEM. This is a zombie walk, not yet another opportunity for you to try to look sexy. Ohhhhhh loook, I’m a faerieieiey wandering amongst the zombies and I bet they all think I look so totally delicious that maybe by the end of the day they’ll make me a faerieieiey zombaiey  but if not then I still look, like, so totally cute because I need validation and whoa I just went off on a tangent there.  WE ARE NOT ATTEMPTING FOR THE WORLD RECORD IN FAIRIES, LADIES. Muttering loudly, I made my way over to the parking lot across the street to wait for the next wave of zombie walking. 6768_99530523939_504738939_2156343_1027595_n  6768_99530538939_504738939_2156345_7323580_n   6768_99530568939_504738939_2156350_46496_n 6768_99530573939_504738939_2156351_678284_n 6768_99530578939_504738939_2156352_8145832_n 6768_99530583939_504738939_2156353_6770302_n Look, ma, I’m gross!   6768_99530598939_504738939_2156356_7969742_n 6768_99530613939_504738939_2156359_5015847_n 6768_99530628939_504738939_2156361_6362122_n 6768_99530633939_504738939_2156362_4236112_n 6768_99530643939_504738939_2156363_6178836_n     We started the walk, and the poor sap driving this car picked the wrong time to be law-abiding and stop at the red. His car got swarmed, zombies were reaching in through his windows, crawling up his hood, and getting blood everywhere.   The zombies were all about general mayhem. We reached through patio gates at patrons trying to peacefully eat meals. Fake blood was smeared all over the window of the business having the ‘White Sale’. My favorite tactic was pressing my face up against the window until someone inside noticed me. At every intersection when we swarmed into the street, cars would get mobbed. In one, there was an unfortunate girl in the back seat who was clearly terrified, getting down onto the floor, covering her eyes, willing everyone to go away.     Anne, Tonya and I ended up getting separated and met at our previously agreed-upon ‘Zombie Lost & Found’. We were there when they started up another round of zombie walking, and this time I focused on photographing the hordes.   6768_99530653939_504738939_2156364_1963939_n 6768_99530658939_504738939_2156365_6461309_n 6768_99530678939_504738939_2156369_7868842_n 6768_99530683939_504738939_2156370_1520329_n 6768_99530688939_504738939_2156371_6742444_n 6768_99530703939_504738939_2156374_1728249_n 6768_99530713939_504738939_2156376_6870595_n 6768_99530728939_504738939_2156379_5447568_n 6768_99530753939_504738939_2156382_460458_n 6768_99530763939_504738939_2156384_646440_n 6768_99530768939_504738939_2156385_8228041_n 6768_99530773939_504738939_2156386_6239335_n 6768_99530778939_504738939_2156387_2433981_n 6768_99530788939_504738939_2156389_1962271_n This guy’s costume was completely awesome. He had a pole attached to his back, which dangled a brain in front of him, which not only motivated him to keep moving, but also caused zombies to swarm him. 6768_99530798939_504738939_2156391_3638787_n 6768_99530803939_504738939_2156392_5354010_n 6768_99530793939_504738939_2156390_5555246_n The King might be an undead zombie, but it’s all good. So am I. Here, you can see me surreptitiously trying to lick him. After this, we all decided we were pretty people-d out, and didn’t want to stick around for Shawn of the Dead. We ended up going to Pegasus in full makeup to have dinner–the language barrier was perhaps a bit too much for the waitress, who decided she did not want to spend a single second longer with us than she absolutely had to. I discovered that it’s difficult to eat when you’ve got a bunch of latex around your mouth. And then…things got silly. 6768_99530808939_504738939_2156393_2836985_n I know you must all want to make out with me now. Not all at once, please.

Ursula: A Halloween Costume Restrospective

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I knew from the start that this costume would be a challenge–less of a challenge than I knew would be inherent in my first idea, the Borg Queen, but a challenge nonetheless. Missing eight days in the middle of the month was a much larger setback than anticipated, and in the feverish last-minute final construction, I swore more than I ever have in my entire life. Here’s what happened, and what went wrong:

I constructed the costume from pretty pretty pretty thin cheap fabric, which I intended to coat in liquid latex in order to give the whole thing a shiny, wet sea-creature look, and save an asston of money in the process by not buying the shiny-wet-look-10x-the-money-per-yard fabric in the first place. Until it was coated in the latex, I couldn’t sew the complex pieces together to get any idea of what the first fitting would be like. This turned out to be one of the biggest problems–when I finally got everything together, the top bit, by nature of the strapless costume design, had to be quite tight in order to keep from falling down and exposing myself to everyone. To this very moment, I would swear to you that I made it (with a pattern, no less!) to my measurements, but when I put it on, it was a goddamned tent. You can bet *that* was a moment for some expletives.

Liquid latex is blended with ammonia to keep it from solidifying in the container, so I took the first piece out onto my back porch in order to have plenty of fresh air to breathe; unfortunately, since I could only work on the costume in the evenings, it was too cool out for the latex to cure. With my rambunctious dog, my only other option for latex was to lay dropcloths in my room and shut the door behind me, lest he track latex everywhere or shake fur into the mixture. This meant that every time I painted latex onto cloth, my lungs were burning, and it STILL took hours to cure, much, much longer than anticipated, so I could only work on small sections of the costume at a time, and everything had to be picked up and moved so I could actually use the room to sleep in, thus the window of time I could actually work on the costume was quite small.

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Until it was entirely coated in latex, I couldn’t buff anything out with the silicone compound, so everything was sticking to itself in a most horrific manner. This was a HUGE problem. Because I don’t have a dedicated project studio and the costume bits needed to be moved around to accomodate actually LIVING in my home, no matter how careful I was, pieces would crease or fold in on themselves and one of two things would happen: Either the latex would mar when I pulled it apart, or I absolutely could not pull it apart, no matter how much I tried. This was extremely frustrating because I wanted the whole thing to look very smooth, and as creased and bunched as it got, particularly around the tops of the tentacles, it made the waistline look rotten.

I had wanted to arrange the tentacle skirt in such a way that my legs appeared to be the front two tentacles, instead of being awkward legs in the middle of a bunch of tentacles. This idea involved the procurement of super-shiny leggings from American Apparel. As it turns out, the fine folks at American Apparel have decided people my size are too fat to wear their shiny leggings, and that my money is not as good as money spent by people a size slimmer. So here’s a great big fuck you to American Apparel! For a moment, I thought I’d try it with black pantyhose, but the tentacles were cut very high in anticipation of full-coverage leggings, and had I worn pantyhose, there would currently be pictures of my junk on the internet. I know my friends love me, but probably not enough to have to look at my barely-covered ass. So again, at the very last minute, I had to change things up and I wore black pants underneath my skirt.

The tentacles were a nightmare. I’d sewn rebar tie wire to the backside, but sewing was not enough to keep the wire in place, so I had to glue the wire on with more liquid latex, which added multiple days of work that I could ill-afford. Once the topside was entirely coated in latex, then I sewed on the shiny purple undersides, and when I went to stuff the tentacles, I learned why I shouldn’t have skimped on fabric–a good portion of the seams popped immediately, and the purple fabric developed runs all over. !*^&#$ As an additional frustration, once I’d stuffed the tentacles tightly enough for the latex tops to be smooth, they were too heavy and full to be bendable, so all of the time I’d spent on wire-work was wasted.

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Once everything was coated in latex, my sewing machine refused to work on it any more. It wouldn’t feed anything through, so the majority of everything at the end was sewn with a giant needle and cursing that would make a sailor blush.

I determined early that I would not be able to color my skin purple without an assistant and an airbrush, so that was right out. I determined much too late (after I’d already ratted and styled my hair) that the white spray does NOT make my dark hair look white, but instead makes it look old and grey. This was, of course, also after I had spent a loooooong time doing elaborate eye makeup, so I ended up having to do a really awkward wash-out hunched under the bathtub faucet. (Of course I had to do elaborate eye makeup–Ursula’s character was based on Glenn Milstead, better known as Divine, whom I ADORE.) Pictures don’t even begin to capture it, but it was a dark, dark base and crease with reflective teal glitter pressed into the center of the lid, so it looked like flashing fish-scales when I blinked.

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The trident I made by melting and shaping a plastic pitchfork over a candle to give it the proper shape and then spraypainting it gold. It’s all right as far as a prop goes, but it’s nowhere near on the level of my Wonka cane, which I was particularly proud of last year.

Here’s the thing, though: For all of the problems, people REALLY responded to this costume. Everyone who saw it recognized it, even with the fundamental changes I’d had to make in terms of skin and hair color. More people recognized this costume than recognized Willy Wonka, which I felt was FAR more screen-accurate. I hesitate to call this costume a very successful one, but I would say that I learned more in constructing this one than I have in any previous costuming attempt, which is always the goal.

Other things I learned:

*Having a skirt made of giant, floor length, thick tentacles makes it awfully difficult to sit down.

*Having a skirt made of giant, floor length, thick tentacles makes it an adventure to drive, with half of them shoved back between the driver & passenger seats, and half of them stacked up and crammed into the narrow gap between the driver’s seat and the door frame; it’s like being hugged to death by tentacles.

*When making a costume in which it’s difficult to get into and out of the car, it’s really much smarter to buy gas EARLIER in the day instead of struggling with it in front of people.

*If you’re wearing a skirt made of giant, floor length, thick tentacles, expect people to treat you like you’re wearing a skirt full of penises and act accordingly.

356_34465593939_4157_n I’m not sure what this picture says about Captain Hammer.

*Four am karaoke is really the best way to end any Halloween party.

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What were YOU for Halloween? I DEMAND PICTURES.