Halloween Party: Bumpy Things in the Night or Something

Time Travel Tuesdays are not immune to the Think About It Central Halloween Party, friends! Back in the bygone days of my newspaper career, I would have to write my columns somewhat ahead of time to have them appear in Saturday’s paper — no later than Thursday morning, in most cases. This made it difficult to discuss what I did on Halloween when it occurred on a Friday. So let’s head back to November 1, 2003, the dark days B.E. (before Erin) when I pre-capped my Halloween for the readers of Everything But Imaginary…

Nov. 1, 2003

Bumpy things in the night or something

Well friends, another Halloween has come and gone. You adults out there are all tired and recovering from last night’s festivities. You kids are gathering up all the teeth that fell out of your mouth after eating your entire haul of Halloween candy 12 minutes after you got home last night. Everyone had a good time.
I’ve always loved Halloween, myself. The chance to cast yourself in a role utterly unlike yourself for a few hours, to take on an entirely different persona, to mold and transform into a ghoul or a beast, a phantasm or a wailing banshee — it’s simply too great to resist!

This year, of course, I was Fred Flintstone.

I’d love to tell you how great my Halloween was, folks, but it’s a sad fact of the publishing world that I had to write this column long before any of the actual Halloween festivities, by which I mean the party thrown by my friend Jenny and her sister Katie, had taken place. I’m certain I had a good time, though. In fact, if the party was as good as one would expect, knowing Jenny’s fiance Chase as I do, I’m probably still sleeping under a pile of carpet remnants somewhere as you read this. Nevertheless, I know Chase and Jenny well enough to explain to you how I fully expect the party will go. So here, for your reading edification, is Blake’s Halloween 2003: The Pre-cap.

• 4 p.m. I meet up with my buddy Chase at BSI Comics in Metairie. Chase attempts to convince me to change into our Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble costumes right there in the parking lot. I decline.

• 5 p.m. After purchasing this week’s comics (and getting into a brief spat with the manager after I explain to him I’m buying less because, now that I’m writing reviews at Comixtreme.com, I’m getting a lot of these comics free now), I follow Chase to Jenny and Katie’s apartment.

• 6 p.m. Chase and I change into our costumes. Jenny and Katie are already in their “Pirates of the Carribean” outfits. I say a brief word of thanks that Jenny managed to talk Chase out of his original costume choice: pirate wench. Halloween is supposed to be scary, sure, but not that scary.

• 6:30 p.m. Jenny suggests we take a trip through a nearby Haunted House before the party really gets into gear. She and Katie come out giggling and commenting on the cheesy effects, I come out trembling like Jell-O in a hurricane and Chase comes out swearing he’ll never drink again.

• 6:45 p.m. Chase opens his first beer.

• 7 p.m. A group of Trick-or-Treaters come to the door. Chase, enjoying his Barney Rubble costume, makes a joke about attempting to “steal their Pebbles.”

• 7:30 p.m. Jenny and I, having pooled all available cash, bail Chase out of jail and swear to appear before the judge next week to testify that he was just acting out a part and should certainly not be added to yet another federal database.

• 8 p.m. The other guests begin arriving at the party. Many of them, I notice, are attractive, single-type females. I decide I will use this evening to charm them with my rapier wit, my sly, confident demeanor, and my undeniably appealing presence.

• 8:01 p.m. I trip over the hem of my Fred Flintstone costume and fall face-first into the bean dip.

• 9 p.m. Someone shows up in what we all declare is the most original costume of the night: the Cubs fan that snagged that fly ball and screwed up the game against the Marlins.

• 9:15 p.m. Katie figures out that person is, in fact, the Cubs fan that screwed up the game and has been fleeing ever since from a pack of rabid baseball-lovers, players and Fox Sports executives, and is actually only passing through New Orleans in an effort to make it to Miami and claim political asylum.

• 10 p.m. Chase, on his third beer by now, grabs someone in a green ogre costume, starts calling him “The Great Gazoo” and demands that he grant his wish to create a giant chocolate pudding wrestling ring in the middle of the living room.

• 11 p.m. Someone reaches the precise point of inebriation where it becomes funny to start shouting, “Cheese it! It’s the cops!” every 15 seconds. Chase challenges him to a pudding wrestling match.

• 12 a.m. Determined to redeem myself, I begin attempting to prove to all present that Fred Flintstone is, in fact, a dancing machine. I get my tie caught in the CD player.

• 1 a.m. Having abandoned all pretense of dignity, I begin speaking to random women and make jokes like, “So Wilma’s out of town tonight, heh-heh…”

• 1:01 a.m. I begin looking for a pile of carpet remnants to hide under.

Blake M. Petit thinks, next year, he’ll wear a dog costume. Women love dogs, right? Contact him with comments, suggestions or some of those new Stainmaster swatches at BlakeMPetit@gmail.com


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