Sunday, October 30, 2011

Phoning it In — or how I got brave and murdered everyone at the Halloween party

I don't feel so good.

I think it's because I socialized this week. I try not to socialize. It works me all up and then I get tired and cranky. This endearing trait is brought to you by stress and sleep deprivation. I share it with toddlers everywhere. Isn't my husband so lucky?

Even though I wanted to spend my weekend curled up on the futon obsessing about school work and school teaching and other such things, I submitted to my husband like all good wives do. On both Friday and Saturday night, I put on pants, went outside my house, and talked to other people. You're welcome. Now where's my prize?

Now, before you say who is this crazy broad and why should I give her a prize just for wearing pants? let me remind you that I wore pants two nights in a row and, more importantly, this was Halloween weekend. That means Halloween parties. And that means Halloween costumes. Costumes are not exactly a Rob and Gretta forte. We're all talk with no follow through. And even though Halloween comes at the same time every year, it always sneaks up on us. Like a zombie: slow, steady, and in your face, but somehow, you're still surprised when it takes a bite out of your brain.

We threw together our costumes on Saturday morning before I left for work. Originally it was going to be the low-key lumberjack/mime combo. Rob got ambitious and switched it to the sock monkey/bearded baby with a sippy cup combo at the last minute. People were charmed once we explained it to them. You'd be surprised how many people don't recognize a sock monkey hat when they see it. (You'd also be surprised by how many people have a problem with the concept of a bearded baby.)

It was a good party. Caramel apple bites, spider-topped cupcakes, brain-eating demon babies...this party had everything you'd ever want from a Halloween soiree. But then the games began.

If you know me, you know I'm not into games. Party-wise, I'm more into snacks. The hostess handed us each a slip of paper that informed us that OHNOHOLYCRAP! There's a murderer at this party! I read a little further, expecting to find instructions on how to avoid the pretend killer and blah blah blah and wait.... What? The killer is me? You mean I have to *gasp* talk to people I don't already know!?

Okay. I had a couple of choices. I could switch papers with Rob and make him do the dirty work. Or I could man up and start winking at strangers. I manned up. I winked at Rob and Toni first, making sure to do it with my right eye so they couldn't tell how bad I am at winking with my left eye. Then I ran to the bathroom cause I really had to go. At first, I tried the normal party schmoozing followed by a wink. But that got lame fast. So then I just started walking up to people and winking them to death without any of the pleasantries. The guy in the Jesus costume was on to me (all-knowing being that he is), but I got him eventually. He ended up being fine, though.

I killed the crap out of everyone at that party. And I made my husband proud! He didn't think I would go through with it. Of course, he didn't know about any of it til after he was dead...ha! ;)

The prize was the best part. Check this out:


Hilary said...

way to go killer! I knew you had it in you :)

Cliff said...

i am very proud of you. you crazy mass murderer. ps...zombies can be fast. and you know this. you've seen 28 days and weeks later. Also, I'm sure you saw the new dawn on of the dead. and heavens, even the zombies on walking dead can run when they feel the need. find a new metaphor, you stinking grad student. love you. And thanks for all the delicious HICHEWS. I only let dad eat one pack.

Rob said...

cliffy, cliffy, cliffy. tsk, tsk, tsk. know you not that 28 Days/Weeks Later creatures were not zombies? They were infected w/ rage. They were not re-animated corpses. And in the original movies, books, and comics all re-animated corpses (aka zombies) are slow. That's part of the commentary--consumerism, capitalism, and mindless following is a slow march, and only truly dangerous in large numbers.
--and small spaces.
Until you can show me Plato's quote on fast zombies, I can't trust your sources.