Happy Halloween dear readers! I can't believe today is actually Halls--it feels like I've been celebrating it for ages now. In fact, I washed my hands of Halloween Monday night. It's already the 1st of November to me. Come trick or treating to my house tonight, however, and I won't turn you away. (Note to self: buy candy.)
As mentioned before, Friday night was the big one. And by BIG, I mean hair. I decided to forgo goth this year for another out-of-control style: Amy Winehouse. If you don't know who she is, don't worry, I've included a photo of her below. I couldn't quite pull off the waifishly cracked-out body, but if I start losing weight now, I might could hit her 86 pounds by next Halloween.
Per tradition, Julie threw a monstrous Halloween party. Below, I'm making nice with Steve Parry and Luke Skywalker, pledging my celebrity vote to the Romney supporters, and
ostracizing goth track allstars.
We spent some time at the University Ward dance (quasi-lame except for the antics of Thing 1 and Thing 2 I imported from Utah) and then back to the party I went. I managed to miss seeing the majority of people I knew. An evening of rather bad timing.
Also bad? At one point in the dance, I excused myself to the restroom. Due to sweat, and hand contact with my hair, and a combination of the two, my face was rather black. Like a chimney-sweep black. Without any paper towels in the restroom, I resorted to wiping of my face with clorox bleach wipes. Three of them. Talk about a chemical peal. I did get the color of my face back.
Two shampoos, two conditions, and some temp-tatt scrubbing later, I was as good as new. No more Halloween for me.