It was a Friday night. My homework was done and my responsibilities were all but nonexistent. I was about to heat up my Indian leftovers and watch a show about murder, when someone informed me that a party was going on. With it being so close to Halloween the party (naturally) was of the costume variety. I did not originally want to go but since my FOMO came on stronger than the inertia I felt towards leaving my room, I decided to get dressed in whatever costume I could conjure up and hopefully join in on the fun.
For reasons passing understanding, Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” was the only thing that came to mind, but couldn’t be more appropriate in terms of Halloween. Working with a limited range of materials, I wore garish, reptilian-looking eye makeup and a black crushed velvet tank top and jacket. I looked like a badger.
Midnight dreary is a pretty good way to describe my night, since it was dark, rainy, and cold; the ideal atmosphere for a lone raven. Since college has yet to make a good dancer out of me, my unsexy and seziuresque dance moves have not wowed at any parties. At every party I go to, I always set the same goal for myself and that goal is always to have a new experience. I would not exactly categorize boredom as a new experience but that was what I was left with. The whole group jammed themselves into a small room as they shuffled to bad music, unwillingly sober. I also was one of the only people dressed in a costume so being cast confused looks was a large part of my night. I sort of felt like everybody who was there was doing an emperor’s new clothes type of thing, where they all were too invested to admit that they were not having a good time. I could not stop yawning all night long so I flew back to my dorm room in order to ponder weak and weary in my chamber.
Around the same time that I was dressing like a carnivorous bird from a nineteenth century poem, I painted a serial killer smile on the door of my dorm, and then I covered it in crime scene tape, which might explain why my roommate stayed away for so long. My floor hosts a door decorating contest for Halloween, and much like with the raven costume, I was one of the only people who participated in it, and my contribution was me making an obscure reference that nobody understood. The design on my door was inspired by the show “The Mentalist,” which I spend just about all my free time watching.
By hitting the scene looking like vampira and painting sadistic smiles on my door, the Halloween spirit is alive and well in this one. Fortunately, my new experience at the party has taught me something about myself.
Will I ever go to a lame party against my better judgement again?
The Tragic Queen,