November 1, 2010
And we drank!
We drank in costume. Most of us drank in costume. In the definite article “us” I do not include myself and am referring to the “us” as in the party of people I was with on Friday night at one determined location from 10pm to 2:30am. Not all of “us” were dressed as well-prepared pop culture references. I found myself adorned in black sweatpants and a Troy Polamalu jersey.
It is of my humble opinion that most human beings and even some animals should be wearing a shirt of some sort commemorating the greatness that is the Pittsburgh Steelers’ free safety at all times or at least 3x a week. The jersey wearing in Jersey was perfectly of a sound mind, but the sweatpants outside and in a social setting of commerce/”maybe hot lady chicks being there” was a crime. This crime was not of an arrest and incarceration nature, but a fine would have be apropos. Sweatpants are comfortable and are a natural fit for all lazy aspirations at home amongst regular players in your life. Sweatpants out in the world can be at times a breaking of the social mores we hold dear in our judgmental hearts and minds.
In many views I have on life, I find it increasingly more acceptable if a woman is wearing said rule breaking sweatpants as opposed to a man. C’mon man! C’mon, Jack. Get some canvas on. Get some denim around those chicken legs of yours. Wrap yourself in fine wool and strut for these chickadees. You know? But terry cloth? Have some respect for yourself. And as you are leaving to retrieve proper pantaloons, do not make a snide comment to the ladies because we need them around. They look nice and more often than not smell nice and bring a pleasing breezing element to the room. The straights men love ‘em for sex and stuff; the gays men love ‘em as the real life Barbie dolls they treat them like giving them makeovers and dressing them and giggling them; the straights women love ‘em to form little gangs and talk make-up and take pictures of each other or to ridicule them when their back is turned and smile when they catch eyes; the gays women love ‘em for sex and stuff.
I dressed in my Polamalu jersey and sweatpants and two additional items. My late genius of a thought in the middle of packing away my apartment was to create a “belt” out of rope and a series of “flags” out of construction paper. I also carried an actual not regulation sized “football”. I was a “flag football player”! I became a flag football player. I LIVED the role as a flag football participant. Oh, what a great and hilarious costume. I will allow all to take a leave of absence to laugh with merriment at my sly brilliance, my understated comedy-iery, my absolute bare minimum of a costume.
My true invention of intellect was that when creating the “flags”, I thought into the future and saw what would be happening with grabbable flimsy appendages that hung from rope belt. PEOPLE WOULD RIP THEM OFF! Egad! That will not happen. I have spent good time and money on four sheets of 8 1/2 x 11 red construction paper to create these flags, I cannot have these lovely imbeciles tearing them to pieces. Thuseus, I attached a length of “gorilla tape” to the back of each flag making them infinitely more difficult to rip. One would have needed scissor hands to remove my flags from me. And for those in the not know, “gorilla tape” is “duct tape”, but with super powers.
I know we are all bored with my outfit. What were other people wearing? What were the other actual head-to-toe thought provoking costumes? Well…
Oscar the Grouch, Katy Perry from SNL in her Elmo shirt, Big Bird, Cookie Monster, Snooki from the Jersey Shore, J-Woww from the Jersey Shore, a St. Pauly Girl bar maiden, black cat, NASA space pilot, Pam as a black cat from The Office, Jim as a ream of paper from The Office, Captain Morgan’s wife/gf/lover and/or sexy pirate, Lt. Dangle from Reno 911, sexy cop, Dora the Explorer, Swiper, Marty McFly, guy in a suit, an unconfirmed Sammi and Ronnie from the Jersey Shore (maybe they weren’t in costume and just kind of look like that?), Dr. Roxo, Charlton Heston from Soylent Green, a space cop, a sexy french maid, maybe Marla Singer from Fight Club, maybe a character from A Clockwork Orange (he was big, bald, and in all white and I did not want to question him), a priest with an inflatable erection, a shower scrunchy, a blonde Eddie Van Halen, blonde Eddie Van Halen’s girlfriend who dressed incredibly similar to the blonde Eddie Van Halen, a girl in a green sweat suit maybe trying to be Kermit the Frog, a couple of weirdos in black and a pirate.
Those are what I remember. There were probably a few more that I cannot recall for whatever reason. I do recall playing beer pong against the sexy pirate/Captain Morgan’s concubine and she had a partner who was also a lady and her costume appeared to be normal clothes. I wasn’t exactly sure what she was, but I was wearing an outfit I see people wearing on a regular basis (minus the gorilla tape flags), so who am I to question. Also, remember my comment about not questioning the females so they will not feel an inclination to leave? She was nicer to look at as opposed to looking at another me walking around. Which would have been greatly disconcerting because there are no other “me” in this world. If there is another me then I know the only two actions or recourses to take is to:
A. Question its allegiance and what time period me is from. If you see another me then that me is undoubtedly from the future or has broke from the time space continuum and is from another plane of existence that may be parallel to this one.
B. Attack and kill me, immediately.
No second thought or chance because if you see another me: assassin! They could be a scout from a different dimension or from the future sent to warn you of some event you will need to take a leadership role in. But I question this, wouldn’t it be more alarming to send yourself as a scout to talk to your current self than to send any other person because the most alarming thing in this world would be to see another me or for other people who know you have no other me to see you and the other you talking. And if we go by the rules of Jean Claude Van Damme’s Time Cop, if me and future me touch then we turn to a goo because we cannot inhabit the same area of space at the same time.
So, the only other idea is that a future me or a different dimension of me has gone rogue and is now trying to kill me because they know about our worlds coming together in some regard and there can only be one me and they are planning on killing me to replace me as the only me.
One can take option A and immediately follow it with B. Or one can just go balls the fuck out and kill B. And giving the situation where I was wearing a Troy Polamalu jersey on Friday night and saw a second me, I would have ducked down in a runner’s stance and sprinted at me and crushed my Jack Daniels’ highball glass right through me’s forehead. Game. Set. Match.
Additional notes -
I kicked ass at beer pong. I’m usually pretty good. I’m steady and never rattled and have an off chance of going on a tear every once in awhile. This occurred in the first game when I rattled off and sunk 4 cups in a row followed by another 3 later in the game. My NASA space pilot partner had to carry me in one of the following games as I lost steam, but I came back to being a viable partner in the games after that. It was 10 cup beer pong, but to be precise that is not my favorite beer pong. My favorite beer pong is six cups and two beers to fill the six. No bouncing. One re-rack. “Shoot to you miss” redemption. Gang bang rule. Girls can blow, but only if they are willing to be made fun of for playing from the “white tees”.
I wonder what Kristen Stewart was for Halloween. I imagine it was not a vampire. I also imagine she is not too into Halloween considering her life 365 is dress up. Whatever she was, I bet she kind of shrugs when she says it and there is a hint of question in her voice like she doesn’t know what she is supposed to be. “I’m a sexy firewoman?” Yes, Kristen. You are a sexy fire woman.