Halloween Crazy

One word: crazy
OK, two words: and drunk.

If one ends up walking around in their underwear on Halloween (and not in a room with a bed in it) does that mean they’re having fun? Yeah, you might’ve seen me running around with flames on my butt. Oh, and apparantly I found it necessary to let everyone KNOW I was in my underwear (just in case they couldn’t tell…). Ah, another crazy-ass Halloween. I was a bit disappointed in costume turnout. I missed any costume contests as well. Which ones won? Liquid got packed fairly early (which is nice when you head out at 8:30) and that’s where I saw most people dressed. Favorite here: the Taliban Hooter Girls with their sheik manager.

Blind Pig looked promising (thanks for the line jump, friend) but I guess the real fun was downstairs ($30 open bar, no thanks — my life is an open bar!). We stuck around to listen to the band a bit. I absolutely love that place for cover bands now that they have the stage up front. So much better! Favorite here: the cops(?), ok, maybe they were “gay” cops. Either way, they were hot buff men in tight blue cop bodysuits.

Then it was on to the Mercury Lounge for their Kill Bill party (geesh, I’m tried already just by writing about everywhere I went!). We had access to the upstairs for some VIP party. Apparantly everyone knew each other, and was asking us if we worked for Key Bank. Was this a work party? There were some more fun costumes here, but again not a lot of creativity. Favorite here: Johnny Damon.

Things get a little crazy (and fuzzy) at Tramp… Somewhere in that walk down St. Clair I remember falling… laughing… sitting on my ass on the sidewalk for about 5 minutes trying to compose myself. Do you know how hard it was to stand up six-inch platform boots? (stairs were a bit of fun too). Lin-Lin and I had the motivation prior to heading out that if we get drunk enough, we’d walk around in fire-printed underwear.

Halloween: the only day you can get away with shit like that. Ok, that and Monday nights at the Crazy Horse, but I digress… I remember sitting a lot because my feet were on fire from these godamn boots. Favorite here: Kevin Federline.

I came back to life at moda where George Acosta was spinning a great set and somehow my dogs stopped barking long enough to dance. Then, I lost my fire hat, my jacket, and my fire axe. Yes, I was the drunk chick dancing her life away in the VIP section in a tank top, underwear, and white boots. Sexy. Favorite here: that half-naked chick in the white tank top, and fire-printed under… oh, wait.

If you saw me somewhere I haven’t mentioned, please advise: I ended up with three wristbands, and can only remember where I got two of them. Was Panini’s carding? Hey, how did my skirt end up in my purse…

Happy Halloween!

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