Oh Halloween. How I have mixed feeling about you. Your intrigue of the crazy shit that could go down is enticing, but there have been too many awful nights of me walking alone by myself in a cape and heels to fully trust this devil's holiday.
This year I tried to be optimistic. Jake and I began brainstorming possible ideas for a couple's costume, but we quickly lost steam and all enthusiasm for the project. The Thursday before the big night, we headed into Goodwill, where a green cowboy hat and cactus sunglasses inspired me to be the gross and non-sexy cowgirl I always wanted to let out, and Jake decided to simplify Halloween by going with a one-piece get up, the infamous trench coat. Luckily, I had the actual pieces of my outfit already in my possession, and I got one too many sowhatareyous, but that was besides the point. After home made chile rellenos at Jake and Brendan's house, and after a measly two trick-or-treaters came by, we headed out on our own.
The first party of the night was a do512 sponsorship, with free Sweet Leaf Tea cocktails and Tito's vodka. Not a horrible way to get your product into the mouths of consumers. The neat thing about this party, however, was its creative use of teslacoils, which I quickly found so mesmerizing that I actually forgot to take any pictures of it. But you can be assured, when the band played, it looked like this.
I was getting a little too excited about everyones' costumes, and eventually led myself in front of the stage to dance in front of Jake for a little while. Michael Jackson came on for a while, which reminded myself just how much I can love and hate pop culture at the same time. But boy, watch these feet move when Rock With You comes on.
After realizing just how not-drunk I was, and feeling embarrassed by how hard I was dancing in spite of this, we changed pace for a bit and checked out the small art house set off to the side of the party. I'm still not sure if it was all of the tricked out Obama costumes or the animal mask art, but I was feeling pretty money, especially with the handsome streaker I had the good fortune of escorting around for the evening. We finished our drinks, I found my mustache in the mud, and we headed to Taos for our next misadventure.
On the way in, Jake was harassed by more than one sorority girl pleading him to takeitoff, and I finally figured how to wear my mustache and drink at the same time. Taos was around the corner, and so was our night.
I was greeted by the usual cool Taosians, Abraham Lincoln and a hipster, who quickly helped me remember just how fashionable I usually am and by making fun of my subsequent hipsterism. We hugged, we winked, but all I wanted to do was see what mayhem might be stirring underneath us and in the sub-basement.
Now, let's clarify. I decided to move into Taos after one night of partying there. The following morning as I filled out the paperwork and signed my year away (with a hint of hangover still looming, I am sure), I never looked back. Nights like these are few and far between, but they mean something special when it happens right. And by right, I mean something like strobe lights, homeless band members doing their laundry in our laundry room in between sets, fireworks being set off in the middle of the dance floor, and mass chaos where everyone dances with everyone. Oh Taos, how I miss you.
On a side note- best costume of the night goes to Nate's beard. I never knew a man could have so much facial testosterone, and hold it from the world at large so long. Thanks Nate.
My hand probably had three types of Swine Flu on it by the end of the night from all of the high fives, but I could not have been more smitten.
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