Above was how I ended my Halloween weekend. Now let's start from the (more social) beginning.
No surprise, this past weekend was Halloween. Or, as so many have cleverly put it over the internet, "Halloweekend." I was curious as to how this weekend would play out, and by curious I mean desperate for any sort of social stimulation with people my age plus or minus 4 years. I was also worried I was losing my college going-out stamina, if you could call it that: the Saturday before I was so indecisive and apathetic that instead of choosing between one of two equally appealing social events I remained in my pajamas watching "Paranormal Activity 1" with a following showing of "Dear John". If that doesn't get you motivated to make better plans for the next weekend, I'm not sure what does.
I wasn't exactly sure what Halloween would be like after college, but apparently being a postgrad means returning to any sort of University-setting to celebrate. The general idea for our "Halloweekend" was to leave early in the afternoon on Saturday, travel down to Champaign to our friend's apartment to go to their Halloween party for the night, and then leave the following morning. Simple enough.
When we arrived the party prep was in full swing. People were hanging decorations on the ceiling, putting out loads of food, and clearing out the main areas of furniture. I was of minimal help in this set-up process and spent the majority of the pre-party pre-gaming pumpkin mellocremes.
The party proceded like any other college Halloween party. There was a plethora of too-soons: the Brett Favres and Jets Girls, as well as a Michael Jackson, a Rocky and Bullwinkle, and even the famous Ale-Alejandro.
A few hours into the party I found myself in the kitchen, the only place that wasn't pitch black and kept lit with glow in the dark cobwebs. After a few minutes of standing by myself and (I'm sure) looking out of place, someone presumably took pity on me and struck up a conversation.
"So, what are you?" I turned to look at who the question came from. A guy maybe my age or a year or two older stood in front of me in some sort of suit. He looked like an 80s businessman. Sweet. I love the 80s.
I responded how I had learned to all night, "Do you watch 'It's Always Sunny'?" The guy immediately launched into his love for the show, especially his favorite character Charlie, when he stopped mid-thought,
"Are you okay?" He asked.
Apparently I didn't hide my feelings well. I really never have. A friend of mine once dubbed my inability to hide my disgust for things I don't like as the "Curry Curse."
"Oh - uhh - yeah. I'm fine. I gotta go to the bathroom sorry." I guess I could have used a better, if not less vulgar excuse. But the fact remained: this guy had Poo Breath.
You know what I'm talking about. And in whatever the context, I think we can all pretty much agree it's a deal-breaker. What I find both puzzling and terrifying is that the offenders seem to have no idea they themselves have Poo Breath. They'll talk as much and as close to your face as they please, while you're concentrating on holding your breath and simultaneously not passing out from both the odor and asphyxiation. It's kind of funny, because in the last three weeks I've met three people with this exact hygienic handicap, and while I'm asking myself why they don't notice or do anything about it, I'm sure the majority of people who they've encountered do exactly what I did: leave awkwardly to avoid anymore time spent within the same three foot radius.
It was then I decided I needed to sleep. I couldn't risk running into Poo-Breath again and it was way past the time that I'd usually call it a night. However, the party didn't seem to be coming to an end at all. In fact, when it would slow for a few minutes, another wave of new people would enter and things would pick up again. I thought my best bet was to check out the host of the party's room, where he told me that I could sleep anywhere but his bed. Great, I thought. Except when I got to his room the only other piece of furniture was... a desk chair. What made perfect sense to me, then, was to lay on the wood floor in a pile of coats and bags.
The sleep I was trying to get never happened. Between the host of the party changing into six different costumes to me trying to take funny pictures of myself in a pile of coats to text to other people, I hardly settled down enough to sleep. At that time my friends returned and asked if I wanted to go to another apartment where there would be no party going on and where we would hopefully have places to crash.
And what a sight we were as we settled into bed that night: a passed out frog, two guys on a pull out couch, a couple on an air mattress, and myself in another pile of coats in a lazy boy chair. Three hours later I woke up to a still pitch black living room. It smelled like hot dogs and urine, and I held my breath as I made my way to the bathroom. Flicking on the light I looked in the mirror and thought about my previous Halloweens. Instead of Illinois, I would have been in California. Instead of an apartment, I would have been in a parking garage. (Yes, a parking garage). I had missed my college life before but never as intensely as this moment. I think partially it was the holiday I hadn't spent apart from my suitemates for the past four years, but also that it was finally sinking in that this wasn't just an extended summer vaca. This awkward postgrad thing was it, this was real life. It's sad to have to finally close the chapter where my biggest problem was "Room Draw" and where "Snack Concert" meant something. My college did a great job of sheltering us from what it meant to be an adult. And though I don't hold a grudge (very much on the contrary), standing in the bathroom and thinking about walking back to my pile-of-coats-bed strangely enough reminded me that I am, in fact, a graduate.
The next morning we heard that a guy we drove down with woke up in a bathtub with pants.... sans boxers. And although most weekends I'd be just as happy staying in and watching Sex and the City 2 in my lazy bones pajama pants, it's good to know I still have a little bit of college-esque rally left in me.
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