Don't be sad it's over, be happy it happened.
Did you have a good weekend? Did you close with that chick dressed up as a ghostbuster? Did you finally shack with that girl who is moving away? Or did you just blow massive quantities of coke all night and spend Sunday vomitting?
Summer is over. Halloween is over. Daylight savings time is over. Your costume is slumped over in the corner covered in fake blood and glitter.
The darkness is upon us.
But before we dive into the doldrums of November and 4pm sunsets, let's do one last reflection on the good times that we had, because remember it is better to have loved and lost then never loved at all.
Chapter 1: The Gin Bucket
As filming was scheduled to commence until 2am on Friday night, I did what any self respecting television assistant would do, I left. There was just no way I was going to spend my entire weekend doing anything other than pouring toxic liquids down my throat. The first stop would be an igloo in West LA, a curious neighborhood nestled up against the 405.
I arrived with the first of two gallons of Fireball I had procured from a Fresh & Easy going out of business sale. The party was already well in hand. I was greeted by various members of the Babysitters Club as well as Bayside High. Add some Pokemon to the mix and it was clear that 90's nostalgia was quite high.
But nothing quite took me back like the plastic cauldron sitting on the outdoor wet bar. I knew immediately that I was in trouble when I saw a half dozen turkey basters emerging from a strange liquid. Of course there would be a gin bucket here. The last time I had partied with a gin bucket was the infamous Barcelona blackout of '08.
As you will remember, from that story I woke up wearing no pants on a park bench at Bogatell Beach and had to walk two hours back to where I was supposed to be sleeping. I am weary of the dangers of gin buckets. Being the prudent Pikachu I am, I started with a couple beers. It would't last.
The first person to invite me to sample the gin bucket was acclaimed street artist Banksy. Then it was Jonah Takalua enjoying his gap year after graduating from Summer Heights High. Right when I'm about to leave the hot corner of gin I am accosted by Kristy, Claudia, Stacey and Mary Anne from the Babysitter's Club who want to take TWO not one baster of gin. I am so totally fucked.
I am able to briefly escape the gin bucket when the police arrive, but somehow I end up in a shot circle with Super Girl, a skeleton and Ted. I retreat inside and AC Slater hands me a Jell-o shot. Where the fuck did these Jell-o shots come from, I've been at this party 30 minutes and consumed enough alcohol for an entire weekend. This is supposed to be the warm up night.
Mercifully, after I escape the kitchen (oh hey there Donald Trump) and the dance floor (my god is that Justin Bieber with Cruella De Vil [I just realized that her name is essentially cruel devil]) I land on a game of Ride the Bus in the family room with three of the four ninja turtles as well as Ralph Macchio and Billy Zabka finally getting along together.
I am enjoying my brief respite from hard liquor when Babydoll from Sucker Punch (which is an incredibly deep cut costume but also sexy AF) legitimately set the SECOND cauldron of gin directly in front of me. There was coke being done in the bathroom, molly on the dance floor, but directly in front of Pikachu there was nothing but gin and fresco cocktails being consumed 3 ounces at a time, but if the Klobb in Goldeneye taught us anything, it's that enough of anything can kill you. There was definitely stuff that happened at the party afterward. I think I challenged Luigi to one on one basketball. I may have asked Satan if she wanted to come home with me. I definitely didn't hit a single cup in beer pong and I may have let Stone Cold Steve Austin stun me through a plastic table. All I know is that I woke up on the floor of my apartment Saturday morning, naked and afraid, covered in Doritos crumbs.
Chapter 2: Puke and Rally
I knew signing up for a 2:30 Saturday improv class was dicey. People often look at me like I'm insane when I tell them about my inability to function the day after a bender, but I know my body. The entire time I was at Indiana University I never took a class before noon, because I knew I would never go. Actually, I rarely had a class that started before 2:30. That said, there were a couple times I nearly missed that 2:30. Sure a normal hangover should be out of your system by noon, but when you party like me it takes a little longer.
I dragged myself to improv and managed to get through the first half of my class thanks to a quadruple shot latte and an iced cappuccino. I was like someone on life support, technically alive but with zero brain activity. All of my jokes went into the darkest depths of my brain. "What's a tender moment you recently received from a family member?" My mother told me that I was the result of a botched abortion. "What is the cure for cancer?" Full blown AIDS. I'm really a delight to have in UCB. At the halftime break when all the cool kids smoke cigarettes or talk about their weekend plans, I made a beeline to the restroom. It turns out that when you party until 5am the night before, eat nothing all day and then directly ingest 6 shots of espresso, your stomach can have some issues.
I fully expected my vomit to be either red (the color of blood) or black (the color of my soul) but it was neither. It was this neon green nuclear fallout color, presumably from gin and jello shots. Part of me thought about pulling the eject lever but I remembered that 1. I had not driven to class and that 2. The hot chick from last week was dressed up as slutty Beetlejuice and her cleavage was out of control. This was enough to get me back to the classroom for the final hour. My last scene of the day was about having sex with one legged hookers in Amsterdam and using babies to clear out a meat grinder. If the police show up next week to arrest me on suspicion of some unsolved murder ring I won't be the least bit surprised.
I get home from class around 7pm and my roommate is already pouring shots of tequila for me, there is a short Mexican man there who is dressed as a drug dealer and the new Zhu album is playing. I open a beer and suffer through a few tequila shots before throwing on my Pikachu costume. I go to open the front gate to let two black cats into the pre game. Meanwhile there is a ninja party happening in my alley. We go to investigate. When I return inside I notice the small Mexican man is gone. Turns out he was a real drug dealer.
Chapter 3: Water and Lightning
The Saturday night party is at a bungalow adjacent to the beach in Venice hosted by Cleopatra, the Corpse Bride and Lady Gaga from the 'Telephone' music video. I was relieved to see that no such Gin Bucket/Crack Juice/Jungle Juice had been prepared. There were 2 coolers of beer and a bar set up with various liquors. Lots of effort had been put into decorating the house. This party would seem to be a bit classier than the previous night's affair, which was nice since I was far from 100%.
But because I am a savage with no will power it was only a matter of time before I was chugging Fireball and smoking cigs with Cheech and Chong. I then shotgunned back to back beers with Tim Riggins and proceeded to spend 30 minutes running around the house screaming 'Texas Forever.'
The only thing that possibly saved me was the fact that my yellow jumpsuit was so hot and uncomfortable that even 30 seconds on the dance floor would render me sweaty, so much sweat, like some of it had to be the alcohol right?
At the beginning of the party there were probably 30, by midnight there were probably 100, every group bringing a seemingly unlimited amount of booze. People were bonging whiskey, flip cup was played with shots, this was not the classy affair I had been expecting. Glass was breaking, A giant panda was passed out in the corner, someone threw up in the bath tub and I realized I was at a full blown frat party.
Halloween in itself is an excuse for everyone to cut loose in bacchanalian debauchery. For one night, you hide behind a mask and nothing seems to count. Your behavior is excused because you are playing a character, a character that drinks, does drugs and maybe even has a one night stand, but when it's over and the dust settles you are granted a life mulligan. The real you wouldn't have gone home with that guy, but throw on a pink wig and all that shit goes out the window.
I spent a large chunk of the night talking (talking is generous, probably more like drunklenly shouting questions at is more appropriate) to an IRL news reporter who is leaving LA to do on camera work in the midwest. "Isn't it weird that you won't be able to do this anymore?" I asked. Because surely local celebrities cannot be celebrating daylight savings by chugging warm whiskey out of a plastic bottle. One does not see Ginger Chan of KTLA facing Fireball shots while dressed as Kim Kardashian.
In the social media age we live in, even normal people can't have fun…Halloween seems to be the one exception.
At one point in the evening, a grass roots movement urged people to take the party to the ocean, because what is safer than taking 100 people nearing black out and in costume into deep water?
Never one to shy away from poor decisions, I helped lead a charge of about 3 dozen people to the water's edge and eventually charged in Pikachu suit and all.
As it turns out, a onesie is not a great swimming garment. As soon as I attempted to body surf the first wave I sank like a rock and eventually got caught in a riptide. It took a herculean effort for me to crawl ashore, I suppose one should not swim when lightning is present.
Because I am inconsiderate, I trudged back to the party and proceeded to lock the door of the one remaining bathroom and shower all of the sand off of myself. Finally I unlocked the door and a naughty nurse charged in and puked…this time in the toilet, yay!
Epilogue: Things to do in Venice when you're Dead
I woke up on a random couch still at the party. There were various other bodies draped in random corners. I fled the scene when I heard people begin to wake up. I grabbed some eggs (and a pitcher) on the way home because you can't shut a 747's engines off mid flight. I trudged home in my still wet Pikachu costume, resembling Cameron Poe's stuffed bunny at the end of Con Air. I passed joggers and real humans walking their dogs every couple hundred meters; they mocked me in silent judgment as the alcohol escaped from my gasping pours.
I finally collapsed in a pile of regret on my couch and threw my costume in a pile of 'things to burn.' I 'watched' football all day through intermittent periods of unconsciousness. My crowning achievement was making it the two blocks to the grocery store to buy a big ass bag of chips and some popcorn. For the third night in a row, I wouldn't make it back to my bed as I passed out in the fetal position on the couch attempting to watch the Mets choke away the World Series.
Whatever you were holding on to, it's gone now. There is no more good weather (except us LA peeps) for you to look forward to. There are no more fun wedding weekends. No more summer, no more Indian summer, November is here and but for a couple paid days off for Thanksgiving there is nothing on the horizon to inspire joy. It's time to quit that job you hate, it's time to move on from your ex, it's time to look to the future.
Hell, I'm retiring the flow some time this week. It just doesn't feel right anymore. I may even go a couple weeks without drinking just to recalibrate the system a little bit. I'm going to have a salad for dinner tonight.
But if you can survive November there are reasons to maintain the faintest semblance of hope. Christmas is in December, fifth exchanges are in December, ski trips and raves and bar crawls are in December. Will I get kicked off the Big Ten Bar Crawl for a fifth consecutive year? Will I get a medal for setting such a record? Who knows?
It's probably a good idea to spend the next 30 days looking in, maybe deal with some of the shit that I've been letting go all summer. No more masks, it's time to be a real adult. I know it's hard because the first day back after a long party weekend always blows, especially when your favorite sports blog has been murdered, but we'll get through it.
Tonight I will do laundry, I will clean my room. Tonight I will go to the gym and get my haircut. I will lay out a business casual outfit to wear into the office tomorrow. I will buy a new pair of shoes and make a pile of things to donate to Goodwill.
Actually…
Tonight I will watch Monday Night Football and the Walking Dead, afterward I will cruise Facebook pics of girls from my past in slutty Halloween costumes and likely jerk off.
But tomorrow, the diet begins tomorrow.
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