"Let Me Show You Around, Maybe Play You A Sound, You Both Look Like You're Pretty Groovy"
This weekend, I did three things.
1) Wore the most pretentious Halloween costume in the history of anything ever.
2) Shared a pack of cigarettes with seven men in full-on Frank N. Furter garb (fishnets, platform heels, corsets, the whole shebang) outside the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
3) Discovered a fucking wicked all night creperie downtown.
What's that you say? "Pictures or it didn't happen"? Well, you're in luck.
I know, right? Just look at that epicness. Take a moment. Bask in it. I'll wait.
Luckily, I'm not a RHPS virgin. Lipstick is hard to scrub off.
Rice, for the wedding scene. I've been brushing it out of my hair all weekend.
Also, I went to a party for literary types dressed as Hunter S. Thompson, founder of gonzo journalism. I don't mind saying that I felt about as badass as anyone can feel. (I was totally going to go as Oscar Wilde, and then I cut my hair. And realized that I could be shot for that kind of pretentiousness.)
One of my friends went as James Joyce. Did you know that Joyce was a world-class pervert? No? Well, he was.
All in all, it was a damn successful weekend. A few misteps, but still a blast. I'm glad, too. I'm going to be in and out of the hospital for the next couple of weeks (nothing to worry about), so it's nice to finish this month with a bang.
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1) Wore the most pretentious Halloween costume in the history of anything ever.
2) Shared a pack of cigarettes with seven men in full-on Frank N. Furter garb (fishnets, platform heels, corsets, the whole shebang) outside the midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
3) Discovered a fucking wicked all night creperie downtown.
What's that you say? "Pictures or it didn't happen"? Well, you're in luck.
I know, right? Just look at that epicness. Take a moment. Bask in it. I'll wait.
Luckily, I'm not a RHPS virgin. Lipstick is hard to scrub off.
Rice, for the wedding scene. I've been brushing it out of my hair all weekend.
Also, I went to a party for literary types dressed as Hunter S. Thompson, founder of gonzo journalism. I don't mind saying that I felt about as badass as anyone can feel. (I was totally going to go as Oscar Wilde, and then I cut my hair. And realized that I could be shot for that kind of pretentiousness.)
One of my friends went as James Joyce. Did you know that Joyce was a world-class pervert? No? Well, he was.
All in all, it was a damn successful weekend. A few misteps, but still a blast. I'm glad, too. I'm going to be in and out of the hospital for the next couple of weeks (nothing to worry about), so it's nice to finish this month with a bang.
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